


Creatures of the Night

by NowImYourDaisy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drug Use, F/M, Gothic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 63,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28623579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowImYourDaisy/pseuds/NowImYourDaisy
Summary: Ginny Weasley is living a double-life and Auror Harry Potter is right on her tail. Can Harry help her before she gets in over her head, or will the creatures of the night get to her first? My attempt at a Gothic-lit inspired GWHP story.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 27





	1. Prologue: the falling star

**Author's Note:**

> Readers, be forewarned: there are dark themes ahead. This is my attempt at a gothic-literature inspired work, and so there will be elements of the genre in this story of Harry and Ginny meeting in this alternate universe.

**_ PROLOGUE: the falling star _ **

Ginny Weasley was on top of the world—almost literally. The Harpies were playing against the Appleby Arrows, and they were closing in on the league championship. Her teammate, Tamara, passed the quaffle to her and she caught it deftly, the sound of the ball hitting her leather gloves highly satisfying.

Ginny tucked it under her arm and raced towards the Arrows’ goal, executing a sloth-grip roll to avoid an oncoming chaser. Righting herself, she ducked under a bludger that would have unseated her.

One of the Arrows’ chasers was blocking her path ahead. She wouldn’t be able to neatly juke him, she realized. She heard Cassie’s calls to her and met her eyes briefly—trying not to telegraph her plans—and passed the quaffle her way.

“Give and go!” Ginny shouted at Cassie after the chaser had pulled away from Ginny to defend against Cassie. Ginny watched the scoring circle, waiting just outside until she saw Cassie pull back suddenly out of it.

Shooting forward, Ginny performed the run they had been practicing together all week before. Cassie’s arm pumped the quaffle one way, right, and then left, tossing it to Ginny.

Ginny caught it, already turning towards the goal hoops. The keeper was out of position, having failed to anticipate the pass. Ginny was closer to the bottom left hoop, and she put the quaffle through easily.

She heard the Arrows’ keeper curse and the crowd cheer. They were cheering her name, Ginny realized.

Ginny didn’t have much time to revel in it all—the keeper was grabbing the quaffle again and putting it back into play with one of his chasers.

She got herself back into the action, heart racing in joy and excitement. She licked her bottom lip, watching for a moment that she could intercept the quaffle. She needed to bring the heat in order to get that interception, she realized.

Ginny raced forward to block the chaser with the quaffle, placing herself straight at her so that she could go whichever way she may try to dodge.

The chaser passed to the chaser that had blocked Ginny just moments before, and Ginny flew for the quaffle, catching it mid-pass.

She took off, flying as quickly as she could towards the Arrows’ goal hoops again. Looking around, she noticed that no one had caught up with her to the other end yet. So far it would be a straight shot. Unfortunately, she didn’t hear the bludger coming her way, only heard the cries of the crowd telling her to watch out—too late.

The bludger hit her in the middle of her back, and Ginny didn’t feel any pain. No, she felt nothing at all as her legs let go of her broom and she fell.

All she knew next was numb fear as she laid on the ground, medics attending her extremely carefully. Her coach, Gwenog Jones, was standing next to their head-Athletic healer, and she heard him tell Gwenog, “We’re not sure she’ll ever be able to fly again.”

Never fly again? Ginny tried to get up and tell him just what she thought of that, but her body didn’t cooperate.

This couldn’t be the end, she despaired. Not if she could help it. She was just getting started!

The healers moved her carefully to St. Mungo’s, where more tests were run, and spells were done. Feeling slowly came back into Ginny’s body, and with the feeling came extreme pain.

“You’re lucky,” one of the healers told her. “If they hadn’t been so quick, you may not have ever regained any of those nerve-endings.”

Her mum and dad were in the room with her. Mum was fussing about, fluffing Ginny’s pillows, fetching tea, brushing Ginny’s hair gently. Her dad was setting silently in the chair in the corner.

Ginny just wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come.


	2. Chapter 1: last year in capri

**_ CHAPTER ONE: LAST YEAR IN CAPRI _ **

Harry Potter awoke to a loud chiming in his ear. He groaned, sitting up in bed. It was still dark out. Fumbling around for his glasses in the darkness, he finally found them further than he remembered setting them on his bedside table. 

Blearily, he looked at his alarm clock flashing. 4:53 am. _Damn it,_ he thought. The chiming continued and he rolled out of bed, grumbling to himself. Why couldn’t more crimes be committed during a normal business day? He wondered. 

He performed his shaving charm, hair tidying charm (it didn’t work much, but it did make it so Harry’s hair at least looked like he’d tried to brush it), and teeth brushing charms before taking off his glasses and placing the wizard equivalent of contacts in his eyes.

He was ready. 

Harry walked out the door and realized he was still in his boxers.

_Feck,_ he thought. He tripped back inside and put on his robes. Okay, now he was ready.

The morning air was chilly as he walked to the apparition point. The sun hadn’t even begun its ascent into the sky, and wouldn’t for another hour or so, but he hoped that he would be done in time to witness it.

Reaching the Apparition point, he turned, and a quiet pop was heard throughout his suburban neighborhood. 

He reappeared at the Auror offices in the Ministry of Magic, which was blessedly empty save for his partner who was standing, haggard, at the coffee pot.

“Not much sleep, Longbottom?” He asked. 

Neville Longbottom looked at him. “Did you know that babies don’t sleep?” He asked in return.

“I may have heard something like that. If you’d asked me before knocking Hannah up, I would have warned you,” he grinned.

Neville groaned. “Start a family, they said. It’s the most rewarding thing, they said. Codswallop!”

“I’m sure it’ll get better when she sleeps through the night,” Harry reassured him, hoping that was true. He grabbed a mug and poured the piping hot liquid. He loved tea, but Merlin—this job made him _need_ coffee.

He smelled the aroma, treasuring it before he blew on it lightly and took a drink.

“Anyone else here to tell us where to go yet?” 

“I am,” came a voice. It was Hermione Granger, the liaison between the Auror Department and Magical Law Enforcement. She looked professionally put together and like she hadn’t been raised from the dead, unlike Neville and Harry. 

He wasn’t sure how she did it.

“What’s the story?” He asked.

“There was a theft in France. You were called in because there were some similarities to the case that you two have been working here in the UK. The thief has the same M.O.”

“What was stolen?” Neville asked, suddenly wide awake.

“A Muggle painting by the renowned artist Martial Raysse. _L'année dernière à Capri_ , otherwise known as Last Year in Capri.”

“How much is it worth?” 

“A few million pounds,” she answered.

Neville whistled. “You say the M.O. is the same?”

“Yes, you had better come with me.” She handed them each a small sheet of parchment with the apparition coordinates they needed. 

One squeezing sensation later, and Harry was at a checkpoint that he recognized as the one in Falmouth. There, Hermione gave them the next set of coordinates, and the squeezing was worse with this bout. Merlin how he hated to Apparate across the sea. International travel always made his stomach queasy. 

When he arrived, they were in France. French customs examined the papers that Hermione provided before performing a charm and declaring them fit to enter the country. 

“I should hope so,” Longbottom muttered as they walked out the building. “Next they’ll be asking for the date of my last shag.”

Hermione made a face. 

Harry shrugged in her direction. Neville didn’t like being questioned extensively, a dislike Harry thought Neville had discovered during the war. 

Harry hadn’t been at Hogwarts at the time, but he had heard awful stories about what the school had been like after the Headmaster had been ousted and subsequently murdered. Three years, Hogwarts had been a place of danger for the wizarding children of the United Kingdom. Harry didn’t want to think of the things that haunted him still from the war—he didn’t blame Neville one bit for being shirty. 

“Any more apparition points, Hermione?” Harry asked to change the subject. 

“We’ll catch a car from here,” she informed him. “The collector it was stolen from is a Muggle, and we can’t just appear without a vehicle.”

Harry and Neville nodded. Hermione took out a tiny silver Muggle mobile phone and dialed a long sequence of numbers. Immediately, a cab pulled up in front of them.

“That’s some technology,” Harry commented.

“Yes, it’s the latest from the Weasley line,” she told them. “They’ve been doing more work for the Ministry than the private sector recently.”

“Glad to see us modernizing,” Harry muttered to himself.

From the looks of it, Hermione had heard him, because she grinned at him before climbing into the driver’s seat. Harry and Neville did an awkward tango trying to figure out who would ride in the passenger and who would sit in the back. As Neville’s legs were longer, Harry ended up in the backseat, feeling incredibly like he was one of those clowns in those tiny cars he had seen on the telly. 

“Before we get to the crime scene, you two have to change into Muggle clothes that policemen would wear.”

Neville gulped, but Harry nodded once again. He had spent most of his early years disguised as Muggle, even believing he was one, and he often preferred Muggle clothing anyway. Hermione pulled out her wand and transfigured their robes into plain black suits with white button-downs.

“That’s much better,” she grinned.

“That was some impressive transfiguration,” Neville told her.

“Why thank you. I had to have something up my sleeve to make it into this position as a Muggle-born.”

Any mirth Harry had felt left with that statement. He didn’t know her well, but he knew that she had suffered along with other Muggle-borns during the war. And he knew that even with the Dark Lord gone, echoes of his grip remained, even within the Ministry of Magic.

Soon enough, they pulled up to a large manor house, or what Harry supposed must be called a _château_ in France. It was a pretty piece of architecture, if a little showy. It reeked of old money. 

They got out of the car, Neville adopting a different posture and Hermione remaining the same as ever: cool, sophisticated, and professional. Harry nearly got his shoelaces caught in the car door and restrained himself from cursing.

The drew nearer to the door, where there were reporters, policemen, and personnel buzzing about. “Oh my. This is quite the scene,” Hermione commented. “I hadn’t realized there would be quite so many Muggles about.”

“Surely there’s a way we can persuade them to leave for a little bit?” Neville asked.

“I suppose there’s a spell I could cast discreetly,” she whispered. 

“Well go on, then,” Harry told her. He looked down at his watch, noting that their journey to France had only taken them all of twenty minutes—most of which had been the car ride. He wondered if they could get finished up at this scene in time for him to grab a full English before he would start his day at the ministry. 

Hermione looked around carefully before pulling her wand out from a holster, muttering something Harry couldn’t quite catch.

The Muggles froze around them. Nobody moved, or even blinked. “What in the bloody hell?” Neville asked. 

“Don’t ask me about this spell,” chided Hermione. “It’s a top-secret spell I nicked from the Department of Mysteries. It can only halt time for three minutes, so we must hurry.”

Harry didn’t stop to think of the implications that Hermione had stolen something from the _Department of Mysteries_ of all places but did file the thought for later. He went straight to work, heading into the home and to the space where he guessed the crime had been committed. There was definitely magical energy lingering in the room. If he had to guess, it seemed like it had been cast by the same witch or wizard that had committed the previous thefts. 

He poked around while Neville took snapshots with the department camera. Near wear he thought the painting must have been, there was something on the ground. He walked closer.

His eyebrows rose of their own accord. That was new. “Do you have everything you need, Harry, Neville?” Hermione called from the front door. He motioned to Neville to take a picture. Just as he heard the click of the shutter, the world came back to life. The Muggles went on about their business, as if time hadn’t been frozen. 

“What the bloody hell, Hermione?” Neville repeated himself. 

“We can talk somewhere else. Is there anything else you need before we leave? I can collect any statements from the police records this afternoon.”

“I think that should be it,” Harry said. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”

Neville agreed heartily and Hermione acted like she might protest before agreeing.

Another twenty minutes later and they were back in London, arguing over which diner had the best full English. They finally agreed on going to the Leaky Cauldron.

Tom had retired a few years before—which Harry had thought was high time; the man was _ancient_ —and now Hannah helped manage the pub. Harry didn’t expect to see her, however, as she was still on maternity leave with Alice.

They walked into the pub to find it somewhat subdued. There were witches and wizards shuffling out of the floo on the way to their shops, all quiet as if they hadn’t quite woken up. They took a seat in a corner booth away from the fireplace and waited for whichever barkeep was on duty.

“That was definitely the same thief at work,” Harry surmised quietly to his colleagues.

“How could you tell?” Hermione asked.

“How many art thefts leave magical residue?” he asked.

“Fair point,” Neville acknowledged.

Just then, the barkeep came by. “Hi, I’m Ginny, and I’ll be helping you today. What can I get you lot started off with?”

“Oh, Ginny, it’s good to see you!” Hermione said. “I didn’t know you worked here!”

“New gig. Apparently, the normal girl had to have a kid and go on maternity leave of all things,” Ginny said, grinning cheekily. “It’s good to see you too, Hermione.”

Harry looked at the witch in front of them. Her flaming red hair was plaited, but wisps were falling out, framing her freckled face. He thought he’d seen her before, but he couldn’t place where.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Neville asked.

“Hi, Neville,” Ginny greeted. “Congratulations on your baby girl.”

“Thanks, Ginny. Anything new with you?”

“Besides this job? Not really. I am saving up to go to curse-breaking school.”

“Good for you!” Hermione said. “You took all the courses needed for entrance at Hogwarts, right?”

“Yep. I’m slowly following in Bill’s footsteps.”

She was pretty, Harry thought. And she was going to be a curse-breaker? “I’ve always thought being a curse-breaker would be extremely cool,” Harry said.

And that, he thought, was decidedly _not_ cool _. What are you, Potter? A randy teenager? Grow up!_

“And you are?” she asked him.

“Erm—” he sputtered. “I’m Harry.”

“I guess we should have made introductions,” Hermione grinned sheepishly. “Harry, this is Ginny Weasley. Ginny, this is Harry Potter.” Oh, Ginny Weasley. That was why she looked so familiar, he realized. She’d been one of the members of Dumbledore’s Army with Neville and Hermione at Hogwarts. He’d heard a lot about the resistance group of students from Neville.

Meanwhile, Ginny’s face had pinked the smallest bit. “It’s good to meet you, Harry. I’ve heard good things.”

“I should hope so,” chortled Neville.

Harry elbowed him. “It’s good to meet you too. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you too. You were in Dumbledore’s Army, right?”

Her eyebrows lifted in what he assumed was surprise. “I was. Usually people remember me from my brothers.”

“I’ve met your brothers, and they are all renowned in their own right, but you’ve made a name for yourself, too,” Harry said. Then, he grinned sheepishly. “I also followed your Quidditch career a few years ago.”

When he saw her face, he realized that he shouldn’t have brought up Quidditch. “Sorry,” he quickly corrected. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s in the past,” Ginny told him. Her brown eyes glinted, and she pushed a wisp of hair out of her face. “I should probably get back to work, though. What can I get for you all?”

They each ordered—Hermione ordering something much daintier and lighter than a full English breakfast—and Ginny walked away. Harry watched every sway of her hips.

“Really,” Hermione huffed. “You don’t have to be so obvious about it!”

“About what?” Harry asked, still watching Ginny’s backside.

Hermione huffed again. “Never mind. Let’s get to talking about the case.”

They agreed, falling silent quickly when Ginny returned with a cup of tea, coffee, and a pumpkin juice. Their discussion began once again after they thanked her, and she left to attend other tables.

“So, we’re agreed that it’s the same M.O.?” Neville asked.

“Definitely. I hope the police reports can turn up more than any of us have so far,” Harry answered. Turning to Hermione and meeting her eyes, he asked, “You said you’ll have their reports this afternoon?”

“Yes,” she said, taking a careful sip of hot tea. “I have a contact in the Muggle department that can get them to us, along with any other evidence they’ve collected.”

“Good,” Harry replied. “So far we haven’t collected or deduced much.”

“What about this new thing?” Neville asked.

“It is a strange turn,” agreed Hermione.

Harry was thinking about it, too. What did it mean?

It had been some sort of rune, he knew, carved into the marble floor.

“It’s been a while since I’ve brushed up on my runes,” Hermione said after some moments of silence. “I’d have to consult my text in my office when we get back to the ministry before saying anything definitive about what it is.”

Just then Ginny arrived with their breakfasts, and they ate in relative silence. Harry paid the cheque when they were done. They all said their goodbyes to Ginny, Harry on the verge of trying to say something to her, anything, before he was pushed into the grate by Hermione. He could take a hint this time, he decided.

Harry sputtered as he exited into the atrium. “I hate the fucking floo network,” he told Neville as his partner exited the grate next to him. “I’d rather walk everywhere.”

His partner just gave him a lopsided grin as they walked next to each other to the employee check-in station.

They passed through relatively quickly, as most Ministry employees were almost to their offices for the start of their day. “Where did Hermione go?” Harry asked, realizing that she hadn’t followed them out of the floo.

“No idea,” Neville said. “But she’ll find us later. We’d better get to filling out our reports for the scene and getting any evidence processed.”

Harry desperately wanted that photo developed. Not for the first time, he wished that he could have digital photography for his work. Unfortunately, Ron and George Weasley hadn’t developed anything of that caliber yet. Maybe next year, he comforted himself again.

In his cubicle, Harry continued to think about Ginny Weasley, rather than the case. He wanted to get to know her, he decided.

But how? He had no idea. Harry decided he would have to leave it up to fate.


	3. Chapter 2: pills & potions

**_ CHAPTER TWO: PILLS & POTIONS _ **

Ginny was exhausted after her shift. She had pulled a double, as the witch who had been scheduled for the evening had taken a day of sick leave, her owl only arriving two minutes before she’d been set to relieve Ginny. Oh well, money was due for rent soon, anyway. She dragged her feet as she exited to floo into her flat.

She pulled the hair-tie from her plait, allowing her hair to come loose and cascade over her shoulders. Running her fingers over her aching scalp, she immediately discarded her work robes and pulled on an old, ratty Gryffindor t-shirt she’d had since her fifth year at school.

She collapsed onto her little twin bed, laying there like she was boneless.

Merlin, it had been a long week. And it was only Monday. _Bloody hell,_ she thought. She wanted to sleep for ten years. Or maybe twenty. But she still had a lot to do before she could sleep.

Glancing at the clock beside her bed reading _11:21,_ she knew she couldn’t veg much longer. She had places she was expected to be within the hour. Why had she even bothered changing into her pajamas? Wishful thinking, she supposed.

Ginny heaved herself up again, digging through her trunk of clothes that she had taken from the Burrow when she’d moved out. She found a pair of tight, black trousers and a dark tee-shirt she could wear underneath her jacket. She pulled it all on quickly before running a brush through her tangled hair. She went to the loo and surveyed herself. She looked bone-weary. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and magicked it into a different colour.

It wasn’t a surefire disguise, but it did keep her from being immediately recognized.

She was glad the mirror couldn’t talk to her like it did at home. She pulled on her black boots, tucking her trousers into them.

Ginny exited the flat as quickly as she’d arrived, heading towards the nearest Apparition point.

She reappeared seconds later in a resplendent garden. Her breath was taken away momentarily, as always, by its natural beauty. She made a face, though, when she passed a statue of a snake. She had never warmed to the creatures, even with the talent that blasted diary had left behind in her.

The garden was dark, filling her with a sense of foreboding. It was overgrown in a deliberate-seeming way, statues half-hidden in overgrowths. Ginny walked quickly towards the large, ornate stone door, where she knocked three times exactly and waited.

She was let in promptly by Morana, a witch with long, raven hair that hung flat around her tanned face. They grasped each other’s forearms, more out of habit than any camaraderie. Ginny wasn’t sure if she could trust the witch, but still had a small amount of fondness for her.

“Long time, no see, cousin,” Morana said. Ginny held back a grimace.

“It hasn’t been so long,” Ginny told her, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe since last full moon?”

Morana gazed out the large window and glanced at the large, bright moon in the night sky. “I suppose you’re right. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

“Some tea would be fine,” Ginny smiled. “I’m knackered after the weekend I had.”

“Take a seat in the drawing room, and I’ll be right there with the tea. Your favourite is Lady Grey?”

“You’ve got it.”

Ginny meandered towards the drawing room, taking in her surroundings, wondering how she ended up here.

The manor dripped old money. She imagined that it must be how the Malfoys had lived before the second fall of the Dark Lord. This manor, she imagined, was even more draconic than the Malfoy’s. She stopped to stare at a painting next to another large window. It was a historical, magical painting, depicting a young girl in Victorian dress as a shadow crept closer to her in the moonlight.

She shuddered and walked quicker until she reached the drawing room. She placed herself on the edge of the sofa, listening for Morana’s footsteps. There was a draft in the room, even though it was warm outside. A fire blazed in the hearth but seemed to provide no warmth. The figures in the paintings surrounding her seemed to move like shadows, this way and that. Somehow it all reminded her of the great serpent from her past, of the time she had lain dying in the vast, cold, cavern beneath Hogwarts.

Morana appeared out of nowhere and Ginny stopped herself from jumping. She didn’t usually feel so nervous here, but something was different this time.

“Here’s your tea, Ginevra,” Morana said. “The master should be with you shortly.”

“Thank you, Morana,” Ginny said seriously, drawing more courage into her lungs as she took a centering breath. She took a sip of the tea, noting that Morana had added a hint of honey with the cream. That was kind of her.

Ginny waited for a few moments before she heard the door open and turned to look. It was the master. She stood up immediately, placing the tea and its saucer on the table to her side.

His pale skin and dark, empty eyes had always unnerved her. “Good evening, Miss Weasley,” he intoned.

“Master Doru, it’s a pleasure as always,” she smiled at him mildly. “I have brought what you requested of me.”

“Good, good. Let us have a seat.”

Ginny took her seat again and waited for Master Doru to request the parcel.

“Now let’s see this treasure,” he held his pale, thin hand out to her. She pulled it out of her jacket pocket and placed it in his hand as she stared away from his eyes and at the skin stretched tight over each knuckle. _He must be incredibly old,_ Ginny thought, not for the first time.

Master Doru unrolled the parcel, examining it carefully.

“Good work, Miss Weasley,” he proclaimed after several quiet minutes. “Excellent work. I hope after this trip, you can find it in yourself to do me another favour?”

Ginny’s stomach roiled, but she nodded. “I would like for you to recreate this with that talent of yours and return the recreation from where you took the original.”

Ginny tried to hide her shock. “Of course, Master Doru. When must this be done?”

“I’ll give you two full moons for this endeavor. In the meantime, come back as much as you need.”

She nodded silently.

“We have an agreement, then?” he asked, holding out his hand to her.

“Yes, we do, Master Doru,” she said, hating herself. She felt as if she were signing her life away with the words.

“Good, Miss Weasley. I had best be off, but Morana will show you to the door.”

“Thank you, Master Doru,” Ginny felt compelled to say.

“You’re very welcome, Ginevra. We will see you again soon.”

He exited the room and Morana appeared in his wake. “This way, Ginevra,” she said. “I have your payment in the foyer.”

Anticipation was growing within her, and she followed Morana as composedly as she could. The potions were set on the table by the door. Five vials, all for her. She impatiently waited for Morana to place them in the box that only she would be able to open once her flesh bonded to the lock.

“Thank you,” she told the witch as she felt her skin warm against the lock.

“Of course,” Morana said. “I’m sure I will see you again, soon.”

Ginny didn’t want to admit it aloud, but she was sure, too.

“Have a good night, Morana,” she told the other witch. They grasped forearms again before Morana opened the door for her.

Ginny whisked out into the cool night. She stopped herself from running to the Apparition point, barely able to even focus on her destination near her flat.

Once she was home, she placed her thumb to the lock and took out a vial. “Slow,” Ginny warned herself. She undid the stopper and took a single sip. That should hold her until morning, she decided.

The pain eased within a minute or so, and she breathed a sigh of relief. The tension within her eased moment by moment, until all she felt was calm. And then shame.

“Fuck,” she whispered. She undid the glamour on her hair, returning it back to its natural colour.

She felt a strange pressure in her hand and looked down to find her palm bleeding. Unknowingly, she had crushed the vial between her fingers. She went to the waste bin and dropped the shards of glass into the depths. She examined her skin as carefully as she could, realizing there was a piece of glass stuck right where her fate line and her sun line met. She knew it would scar. She pulled out the glass roughly, deciding that she wouldn’t magic it better. What would be the point? She couldn’t feel the pain anyway.

She pulled off all her clothes and crawled into her bed. She would sleep well tonight for the first time in a week.

And sleep she did, until a searing pain in her hand woke her in the early morning hours.

Ginny opened the case of potions again and stared at the vials before closing it again.

She made her bed, finding dried blood on her sheets from the night before. _Stupid_ , she thought. She grabbed her wand and scoured the blood stain out before turning her wand towards her hand. She decided not to heal her hand, once again, after a moment of staring at it. Maybe it needed to be a reminder of what her life had become. Her mum would be so ashamed of her. She was ashamed of herself.

Ginny looked at the clock. Shite, she had to get to work!

She got ready quickly and dashed out the door.

When she got to her first table, she found Harry Potter sitting alone.

“Hello again,” she smiled at him, pushing all her worries behind her public mask.

“Good morning,” he replied.

“I didn’t think our full English was good enough for a back-to-back performance,” Ginny quipped.

“Er,” Harry stuttered for a moment. “I guess you could say I had a craving.”

Ginny shrugged. “I’m not here to judge. You do actually want the full English, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“Coming right up. Coffee again, today?”

“Please,” he groaned.

She grinned a little before walking towards the coffee pot. It was finishing brewing, so while she waited, she grabbed the sugar and cream caddy (the cream was charmed to stay cool) and watched Harry Potter from behind the counter.

He was handsome, more handsome than she remembered from the last time she’d seen him at sixteen. She’d seen his picture in the paper here and there, of course, telling tales of heroic deeds and dates that never seemed to go anywhere. His dark hair was unkempt, and his green eyes shone out from beneath long, dark lashes. His skin was almond coloured and smooth. The papers had tried to make him seem like a witches’ man before giving up on his love life altogether. She couldn’t remember the last article she’d seen about his sex life.

She bit her lip, wondering…

… A tingly feeling that she hadn’t experienced in _so long._ Not since before…

“Weasley!” She jumped and looked to the source of the voice. She was torn out of her daydream to find the assistant manager, Pat (short for Patroclus), glaring at her.

“Weasley, are we paying you to check out customers?” He asked.

“Well, you are if I’m pouring coffee while doing it,” she replied, wiping her hands on her apron nonchalantly. 

He smirked the smallest amount. “Yes, but you aren’t pouring coffee right now, are you?”

“Right on it, boss,” she said. 

She grabbed the coffee pot—now full—and carried it to Harry Potter’s table. 

“Fresh off the press,” Ginny told him.

He grinned. “Thanks so much. This stuff is giving me life.”

“That is high praise for such swill,” she smirked.

“Anything served by you is not swill,” he replied.

That was _smooth,_ Ginny thought. She almost couldn’t help blushing, but she narrowly avoided it.

“Your full English should be coming right up. Let me know if you need anything!” She grinned, turning to greet her newest table.

Ginny Weasley wasn’t stupid. She knew that the Leaky Cauldron’s full English breakfast wasn’t the best in London. Nevertheless, Harry returned to her section again on Wednesday morning, ordering the same exact thing for the third day in a row.

His eyes followed her around the pub, building a fire within Ginny that no thoughts could quench. Her hand shook as she poured his coffee, as she could feel the weight of his gaze on her body. _Get it together, Gin,_ she told herself. No wizard had ever had this effect on her, and it wouldn’t be professional of her to let it get the best of her at work.

Finally, Harry left for his own work and Ginny felt her heartbeat return to normal.

At the end of her shift, Ginny popped by her flat to clean up. She stretched against the wall, needing to get the tension out of her back, any way she could. Merlin, it was worse than usual today. 

She looked at the box that Morana had given her the night before. One small sip would bring relief, and peace. Could she do it? Could she take a little bit of potion and go to the Burrow? Would her parents notice? Not if she was careful, she decided. They hadn’t in the past. If she only took a small sip, it would be fine, she reasoned. 

Finally, finally, she made her way to the box sitting beneath her bed and pulled it out. Underneath her fingertips, it unlocked and popped open.

She took the second vial and uncorked it. So close.

She took a small sip, wondering nervously if it would be enough.

Afraid it wouldn’t be enough, Ginny knocked back another gulp, praying to Merlin she hadn’t overdone it. Slowly, painfully slowly, she felt its effects trickle through her, limb by limb, surrounding her in cool relief, and then warm comfort.

Ginny sighed in relief. She lowered herself down to the floor, which she noticed for the first time in a while, was dirty. She should clean it, she decided. She got up, a little wobbly, and looked around for the cleaning broom. She found it in a dusty corner beside the icebox.

With a quick wave of her wand, the broom was dusted off and dancing merrily about her flat, creating neat dust piles.

Ginny looked at the time and gasped. She needed to be at the Burrow. She rushed to the loo, looking in the mirror at her reflection. She looked like a mess. Her hair looked like she’d been sleeping on it and there were dark circles under her eyes that would tell everyone around her that she hadn’t been sleeping as much as she should have been.

She pulled out a WonderWitch product from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes that helped disguise dark circles and spread the cream underneath her eyes. The circles were gone within seconds, so she grabbed her hairbrush and ran the brush through it quickly before applying a glossing charm to her hair. Much healthier looking.

She raced out of her flat and towards the Apparition point, casting a furtive glance around for Muggles before disappearing with a small pop.

At the Burrow, Ginny found her mum in the kitchen, preparing supper, and her dad in his shed. It was eerily quiet, only the sounds of her mum in the kitchen making any noise.

“Ginny!” her mum shouted. Molly Weasley put down the spoon she’d been holding and rushed to Ginny, enveloping her in a large hug.

Ginny relaxed into her mother’s hug, as it always reminded her that everything would be alright.

“Hi Mum,” Ginny greeted against her mum’s shoulder. “Good to see you.”

“You need to come around more often, dear,” her mum chastised. “You need some fattening up!”

Ginny blushed. She was a little thinner than she’d like, but food hadn’t really been her priority in a while. There were more important worries in her life—like Doru’s hold on her, and her growing concern about her dependency on those pain potions. “That’s why I come over once a week, Mum,” Ginny grinned.

Her mum tsked and said, “Help me finish up this stew. I’ve got to butter the bread.”

Ginny acquiesced and took the spoon, stirring the stew in the large pot. The amount of stew her mum had made would be more than enough for the three of them. Coming home for dinner on Wednesdays often reminded Ginny that her mum didn’t know how to cook for a small amount of people—only a large crowd. It made Ginny wonder how often her mum and dad dined on leftovers.

The stew was one of Ginny’s childhood favourites: lamb stew with leeks and other vegetables. It had always been something they could only afford on incredibly special occasions—more special than even birthdays—and this stew always reminded Ginny of happy times.

As she stirred again, she saw her dad emerge from his shed, as if he knew that supper was nearly ready. Ginny wondered if he had a sixth sense of it after all the years he and her mum had spent together. She watched as he walked steadily towards the house, whistling some tune she couldn’t hear. She thought that he would probably retire soon from the Ministry with a hefty pension that was gifted to war veterans retiring. It had been something Hermione had secured the year before for anyone who had fought with the Order of the Phoenix or Dumbledore’s Army.

Ginny knocked on the glass and waved when her dad looked up. His smile was bright, and she noted how much more relaxed he was now. Ginny wasn’t sure if it was because all of his troublemakers were out of the nest, or because he didn’t fear for his family’s lives anymore.

She tried to act normal as he came in—her dad had always seemed to know her better, and he had taken it even harder than her mum had after the chamber.

“Hi Dad,” she greeted him when he walked in, the back door squeaking in that familiar way as he opened the door.

“Ginny-girl,” he walked over and ruffled her hair before bending down and kissing her cheek.

“Alright?” she asked.

“I am!” her dad said cheerily. “How has my favourite daughter been?”

“I’m your only daughter, dad,” she replied, acting exasperated like she had been when she’d been little and answered the same question.

“Not anymore,” he reminded her.

“Well, I won’t tell Fleur I’m your favourite,” she chided. “I’ve been doing alright. Mostly, I’ve been working and doing some art.” It wasn’t a lie, per se.

“I’d love to see your art sometime.”

“I’ll bring some over next week,” Ginny promised.

“Good,” he smiled gently.

Her mum bustled over. “Arthur, dear, would you set the table?”

“Of course, Molly-wobbles.”

Ginny mimed gagging at the two of them, but her mum just giggled and blushed lightly. Ginny pretended to gag again, trying not to think of her parents’ sex life.

“You two are so disgustingly sweet,” she complained out loud.

“Someday you’ll find somebody who makes you feel the way your father has made me feel for nearly forty years, dear,” her mother said.

Ginny wasn’t sure if that was true, thinking of how she hadn’t had any successful relationships. She didn’t know who could love her with how she’d been carrying on. On the other hand, she thought it might be nice to attempt something with Harry Potter—even if it was just a one-time deal to get it out of her system. She hadn’t had a decent shag since before her injury. She imagined what it would feel like to have him inside of her, on top of her, his hands in her hair.

Ginny bit her lip, feeling a flush build its way up on her face and then down her body.

Now, she tried to think about something that would cool her down and told her mum, “If you say so.”

Her mum chuckled and Ginny asked, “Do you need any more help?”

“If you want to help me put the stew in the serving dish, I would appreciate it, dear.”

Ginny moved from where she’d been standing at the counter and found the giant bowl her mum had always served soups and stews out of—it was a purple, wonky-looking thing that Bill had made as a child, but her mum had charmed it to activate an ever-warming charm whenever something was placed inside.

She carefully poured the stew in and brought it to their wooden table with all its nicks and scratches. How many meals had she enjoyed with her family at this table? Ginny wondered.

She set the bowl on the trivet her mother had set out and turned to grab a pitcher of pumpkin juice from the fridge.

CLUNK!

In the matter of a second, Ginny had lost her footing. _This is the end,_ she thought as she tumbled down, putting her hands in front of her to break her fall. Her back wrenched as she fell. Her face nearly met the old, wooden floor and she flashed back to all the times Ron had scraped his nose on the floor falling in this kitchen.

Luckily for Ginny, she still had some athletic reflexes that stopped her from scraping anything up. Unluckily for Ginny, she had also bumped the wall on the way down and her mum’s clock came crashing down to the ground. She attempted to catch it, hands fumbling, fingers not quite grasping onto it. It slipped through her fingers and onto the floor next to her knees, face down, the sound of glass shattering echoing in the kitchen.

“Fuck,” Ginny cursed aloud.

Her mum didn’t berate her for her language—she was too busy staring at the clock on the floor. Ginny worried she may be in shock. Her dad was already on the move, racing to the clock with his wand.

“ _Raparo,”_ he said urgently, wand pointed at the clockface.

Ginny watched as all the broken pieces of glass, and a few of her siblings’ faces, floated back into place, and she finally breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank Merlin,” she said. “I’m so sorry, Mum!”

“It’s fixed now, so it’s alright,” Dad told her.

Her mum was still standing, face frozen. Ginny bit her lip, wondering if any of it would have happened if she hadn’t taken that potion before she had arrived. She knew how her mum treasured the damn clock, even now, when all her children were grown up.

Her dad went to her mum and helped her sit at the table. Ginny took it upon herself to grab the rest of their supper from the kitchen and place it on the table. When she realized she’d forgotten the pumpkin juice, she charmed the fridge open and summoned it, not wanting to risk another incident.

The three Weasleys ate in silence for the rest of the meal, and somehow Ginny’s stew didn’t taste as good as it usually did.


	4. Chapter 3: the lucky leprechaun

_**CHAPTER THREE: THE LUCKY LEPRECHAUN** _

Harry left The Leaky Cauldron by Apparating this time—he truly hated the floo network. When he arrived at the Ministry of Magic, he headed immediately to Hermione's office. Surely a day had been enough time for her to dust off her runes book.

The Magical Law Enforcement department was on the same floor as the Auror offices, so naturally he ran into the Head Auror, Robards, as he made his way to Hermione's office.

"Sir," Harry said politely.

"Potter," Robards acknowledged. "Are you making any headway in the art thefts?" he asked Harry.

"Not much, still, sir," Harry hedged. "But I'm investigating a lead right now that I'm hoping will prove fruitful."

"Keep me updated, Potter. MacMillan Senior is riding my arse about this."

"Well he can investigate it himself, if he wants it solved so neatly," Harry said. "Why'd they pass it to us, anyway? These types of crimes are usually for his office, anyway."

Robards shrugged. "Something about being overworked… and keeping you busy."

"Keeping me busy?" he asked incredulously. "Surely he means good press."

Robards shrugged again. "Just let me know what you find; I'm off to a press conference about that incident in Leicester Square."

Harry waved in farewell and continued to Hermione's office. He found her pouring over a tome at her desk, finger following along with her eyes on the page.

He knocked to get her attention, and she jumped. She looked just as neat as she had the morning before, when they'd been called in to work at the crack of dawn.

"Oh, hello, Harry," Hermione whispered.

"Hullo, Hermione," he replied.

She looked at him as if she were appraising him before whispering, "What brings you to this corner of the ministry?"

"Why are you whispering?" he asked.

Her pinks turned pink. "Sorry, old habits die hard," she apologized, speaking at a normal volume now.

 _Old habits_? he wondered but didn't comment aloud.

Whenever someone had a strange reaction to something inconsequential, he often concluded that it was a remnant of the war. Merlin knew he had his own odd reactions to seemingly stupid things, himself. He knew that while he, too, had suffered during the war, he hadn't suffered in the same ways that his peers had. He shook himself of his imaginings of what it must have been like for her and returned to the subject at hand.

"I just came by to check on your progress with that rune," he said.

"Oh, yes," Hermione said. She pulled a larger tome out from a drawer to her left and placed it on top of the one she'd been reading with a _thunk_. She flipped the book open to a page that had been marked with a muggle post-it note. "Here it is. The _nyd_ rune."

Hermione pointed at the picture on the page, and sure enough, there it was—the rune that had been carved into the floor of the chateau. "What does it mean?" he asked.

" _Nyd,_ sometimes known as _nauthiz_ or _naudh_ , means need, or a hardship, or the relief of discomfort. It's a fire rune, which in and of itself could complicate the meaning behind the carving…" she trailed off.

Harry scratched his head. "I was hoping this would lead to an answer, rather than more questions," he told Hermione.

"I was, too, though I should have known better. Anyone who would take the time to carve a rune at the scene of their crime would ensure that we wouldn't get any true clues from it."

"What does it even mean that they would use it? That specific rune?" he asked.

"My guess?" Hermione asked, closing the book. "Most likely, the thief left it as a message of some sort of guilt, or desperation, or a mixture of the two. But I'm no psychologist."

"You could be, I bet," Harry replied.

Hermione shrugged. "That would require a lot of University and even more training," she said primly.

He grinned. "Could I borrow that book to scan into the file?"

"That's fine," she told him. "I'll come by and pick it up at the end of the day."

"Thanks, Hermione. I know this gave us even more questions, but it's something!"

Hermione heaved the book off her desk and held it out for him. He grabbed it from her, not surprised in the least that it was as heavy as it looked. "Well, I'll see you later. Happy reading!"

"See you," she said, distractedly. She was already back to what she'd been reading when he walked in.

He hurried to the Auror offices, making sure to stop at the copy spell station to make a copy of the page with the rune information on it. The copy wizard looked bored as he ran his wand over the page, and Harry briefly wondered why they had a position that existed solely to make copy for Aurors. It seemed like a waste of gold to him—maybe it was an economic thing.

He walked back to the desks, hoping to find Neville and fill him in on Hermione's findings. Neville luckily was at his desk, so Harry quickly caught him up.

"Stranger and stranger," Neville commented.

"Agreed," Harry said. "We're no closer than we were before."

"We may have to wait for another theft," said Neville.

"Merlin, I just want this damned case to be over," Harry said. "It shouldn't even be ours."

"While you're not wrong, it's the least dangerous case we've had in a while," his partner grinned. "It's nice taking a small break."

"I'm sure Hannah appreciates it," he replied.

"Oh, she does," Neville said, eyes staring down at the rune on the page. "We obviously have a thief that studied ancient runes in school."

"That's a rather large pool of suspects," Harry told him. How he wanted to stop thinking about this case… there were other things that he could be thinking about. Like Ginny Weasley.

"What can you tell me about Ginny?" he asked impulsively.

"Ginny?" Neville asked, confused. "What about her?"

"Is she single?" Harry asked, blushing darkly.

"Oh," Neville said, comprehension dawning. "Yeah, she's been single since she left Hogwarts, actually."

"Interesting…"

"Potter?"

"Yeah, Longbottom?"

"If you hurt her, I'll have to kill you."

"Noted," Harry grinned, and then turned serious. "I'm sure you guys went through a lot together."

"We did. Nobody else will ever understand what it was like." Neville's voice was haunted.

It had been five years since the war, and Harry didn't think the echoes of it would ever leave any of them alone. He still had nightmares most nights of things he liked to pretend had never happened… but they had happened, he reminded himself. And he had survived. Everyone around him had survived what had seemed impossible.

What was worse—dying in the struggle or surviving and remembering it all? He wasn't always sure, but here he was anyway.

"I heard she was very brave those years at Hogwarts when Voldemort had taken the Ministry," Harry commented.

"Oh, very brave. But it's not my story to tell," his partner told him, blue eyes serious. "I'm not sure she'll ever talk about it."

"I don't," Harry answered. This was the most he'd said on the subject in ages. But it was always there, in the back of his mind, like a dark cloud. The secrets owned the silence sometimes. Harry pushed the unpleasant images from his mind, focusing instead, again, on Ginny. Her long, coppery hair, those freckles, her warm, amber-coloured eyes.

After a period of silence, each of them lost in their own minds, Neville changed the subject to the latest Quidditch rankings—namely, the Chudley Cannons being third in the league. "I'm just saying it's ungodly and unnatural," Neville continued.

"You're telling me!" Harry laughed. "And the Cannons' fans are insufferably obnoxious about it!"

Neville guffawed right as Hermione Granger walked into the Auror offices.

"So, this is what you boys do when you're supposed to be investigating—Quidditch talk," she quipped.

"Hello, Hermione," Neville gave her a lopsided grin. "We were talking about the Chudley Cannons standing in the league."

Harry handed the book to Hermione silently, and she grabbed it from him as she looked at Neville.

"Ron—that's Ron Weasley," she explained to Harry before turning back to Neville. "Has been so unbearable about it! Every time I run into him, it's all he can talk about."

"That's Ron for you," Neville chuckled.

Harry suddenly felt very left out of the conversation. He sometimes wondered what his life would be like now if he'd attended Hogwarts instead of getting whisked away from his life with the Dursleys' by Sirius and Remus when he was 7. He would probably be a completely different person—a childhood on the run hadn't been what he assumed was normal. On the other hand, it may have provided more normalcy than anything the Dursleys' had, if his dim memories of Number 4 Privet Drive were correct.

He tuned back into their conversation and found that they were now talking about the case again.

"We're running into dead ends," Hermione was saying. "Without any new leads, this could easily turn into a cold case. I've gone over the reports from the Muggle police numerous times, and can't find anything of value from them, either."

"I have a CI who is checking in with the known fences," Harry told them. "I'm meeting with them tomorrow for lunch, so I'll keep you briefed on that."

"Oh good," Hermione replied, glancing at her watch. "Well, I had best be off. I've an independent research project I need to get back to. Have a good night, boys." She smiled and waved as she left.

Harry and Neville looked at each other. "Merlin, I forgot that she was like that," Neville told Harry. "But she is right about one thing. It is closing time for the day."

Harry looked at the clock on the wall and realized that Neville was right. Where had the time gone? He hadn't accomplished one thing today.

This wasn't often the case in his busy career as an Auror, so he accepted it with a shrug and grabbed his cloak. "What are you and Hannah up to tonight, mate?"

"Oh, the usual. Dinner, getting Alice ready for bed, and then reading on our separate sides of the bed and passing out with the lamp on, I'd imagine."

"You make married life sound so appealing, Longbottom," he joked.

Neville grinned. "I do what I can. And honestly, I wouldn't trade it for the world."

Harry smiled back and wondered if he would ever feel the same.

They walked to the Apparition points and nodded at each other before they both disappeared with a _crack._

When Harry reappeared, he was on the street near his flat. It was beginning to drizzle, so characteristic of England, and he hurried up to his flat. At least it was a warm drizzle, with autumn looming ever closer, he kept expecting the temperature to change.

He changed into dry, non-work clothes. He opted for trousers and a t-shirt, instead of robes. He sat down on the sofa, wondering what he was to do with his evening. Merlin, he needed friends outside of work.

Had he always been so lonely?

He wasn't sure.

Finally, he jumped up from the sofa, after sitting there for several minutes doing nothing, and decided that he'd take himself out for dinner and a drink.

Who knew? Maybe he'd make a friend.

In the end, he decided to go to a new pub in Hogsmeade. It would be less crowded than anything in Diagon Alley, he reasoned, and less busy than the Three Broomsticks. The pub was owned by an Irishman that Harry thought was his own age, Seamus Finnegan, and named something apt: The Lucky Leprechaun.

When he walked in, it wasn't crowded at all. Strange, as it was dinnertime, but Harry wasn't going to look a Unicorn in the mouth. He sat at the bar and ordered a steak and kidney pie with an ale. "It's elf-made," the bartender informed him.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Is it fair trade ale?" he asked.

"Oh yes—all the elves who make the ale are compensated," the bartender reassured Harry.

Harry probably would have drank the ale if it hadn't been fair trade, but it did make him feel better all the same. Elf rights were becoming a big deal, finally. Of course, part of that was due to Hermione Granger championing the cause and making the plight of elves—house and other types as well—more visible to the wizarding public. He hadn't ever genuinely believed that elves were happy as slaves, no matter what the wizards and witches around him, and even some elves, had told him. He'd always figured it was a result of brainwashing.

He drank his chilled ale and listened to the sounds of the pub around him as he waited for his steak and kidney pie. This was what peace sounded like: unhurried chatter and the clattering of silverware in a public place.

Someone sat down on the stool next to him, and out of an instinct from long ago, he was instantly on alert.

"Woah there," they teased, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's just me."

He looked, heartbeat slowing, to find Ginny Weasley next to him, touching his shoulder. He gulped, heartbeat picking back up just as quickly as it had slowed down.

"Hello," he smiled at her, embarrassed. His cheeks were warm, and he knew it had nothing to do with the ale. "Fancy meeting you here." _You stupid arsehole, Potter. Couldn't think of anything less cliché?_

"Hi," her returning smile was beautiful. "Are you eating alone?"

"Yeah," Harry said, taking in her appearance. Her hair was so shiny, so soft looking… She was wearing a black leather jacket with a yellow t-shirt underneath and tight black trousers. He swallowed hard. "You?"

"Just came to have a quick drink," she explained. "I just left my parents' house. We have supper together, just them and I, on Wednesday evenings."

"That sounds nice," Harry said. "It must be hard to get one-on-one time with them in such a large family."

"It is," Ginny told him. "Well, not as much now that we're all grown. As a kid, it could be difficult. I probably had it easier than the boys did, in that regard, though," she admitted. "Sorry, you probably really don't care. We don't even really know each other."

Harry smiled at her, his eyes crinkling a little in the corners. "I don't mind, really. Besides, I think I'd like to get to know you more."

He couldn't tell if she looked surprised, or if it was his imagination. It _had_ been forward of him—he couldn't seem to control what he said around her.

"I feel the same way," she admitted carefully. He watched as she bit her lip, teasing the corner for a moment before she let it go and smiled radiantly. "So, what do you do for fun?"

His breath caught in his chest. What did he do for fun? Did he have any hobbies? He couldn't think of any now.

"You mentioned that you'd followed my Quidditch career," she prodded.

Oh, Quidditch. "Yeah!" he was finally able to reply. "I really enjoy Quidditch. I always wanted to be able to be on a real team," Harry admitted. "But never had an opportunity growing up. I've played small-sided games with my godfather, his husband, and some of their family and friends. I've always loved to fly."

Ginny grinned. "Me too. I used to steal my brothers' brooms from the shed and sneak out at night to practice."

The bartender brought Harry's steak and kidney pie, placing it in front of him before asking if he needed a refill on his ale and taking Ginny's order (something called a Moscow Mule). "Yes, that would be great. Thank you."

Turning back to Ginny, he said, "That's pretty sneaky of you."

"Well, I was desperate to learn, to do what the boys could do. They'd never let me play with them," she shrugged and gave him a sly smile. "You've never done anything sneaky?"

"No, never," he deadpanned. He was able to keep a straight face for a moment before he started to chuckle.

"That's what I thought!" she crowed.

The bartender refilled Harry's ale and brought Ginny's mule, and neither of them said anything for a moment.

"Now tell me, Mr. Potter," Ginny was still smiling. "Tell me one sneaky thing you've done in your life."

Harry thought for a moment. There were loads of things, though most of them were for the sake of staying alive during the war. Were there any sneaky things he'd done for fun, or to prove himself?

"Well," he began, "There was this one time…"

Hours later found the two still chatting. The lighting in the pub had darkened, and neither Harry nor Ginny were sure what the time was. Neither had checked their watch or the clock on the wall in quite a while.

They were giggling together over something or another and the bartender kept looking at them pointedly. This, of course, made them break out in a new round of giggles.

"D'you want to go on a walk with me?" Ginny asked him.

Her cheeks were pink, her eyes alight with merriness.

"Definitely," Harry answered, hoping—fruitlessly—that he didn't sound overeager. If he did, Ginny either didn't notice or didn't care. She grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the door.

He threw about five galleons down on the bar, hoping that would cover their tab, and let her pull him into the moonlit night.

He stumbled a little over the threshold but managed to keep himself upright before toppling onto the cobblestones.

He looked around, taking in the sight of the village around him. He hadn't seen it in the dark since that last battle, all those years ago. The Battle of Hogwarts. His presence in Hogsmeade had triggered the caterwauling charm, drawing both ally and foe to him, creating an immediate battleground and setting the village alight.

"I love how Hogsmeade looks at night," Ginny was telling him, hand still in his. "It has a certain quality to it. It reminds me of happy days at Hogwarts."

"What was it like?" Harry asked, sensing about a million stories buried within her.

"Hogwarts?" she asked.

He nodded.

"It was… well, Hogwarts," she said. "It could be cruel, the castle. It could also be a gift. I learned who I was there, what I was made of. Of course, there are so many layers to each of us, that I'm already different than I was then. It's kind of like a fairytale, come true, with a seedy underbelly that colours all your happy times with shadow."

"That's a lot," Harry said. It sounded much more complex than the stories he'd heard from Sirius and Remus of their time there as Marauders. But that had been a different lifetime, a different war. Hogwarts had been his godfathers' safe place, their home. Ginny's Hogwarts had been a battleground—a study of the tenuous grasp they had on life.

"But I wouldn't trade my time there," she told him, her voice full of certainty.

They were walking down a side street now, not as well-lit as the main street had been. The moonlight shone in her hair and illuminated her amber eyes. She was so beautiful, he thought.

Something seemed to come over him, some strange sense of confidence, and he pulled her to him, caressing her cheek gently before placing his lips on hers.

He'd always heard Muggles use the expression that kisses should be like fireworks, and he had never understood until just then. Ginny Weasley's lips against his caused an eruption in his brain, a burst of synapses communicating with one another at a rapid-fire pace. Her hand fisted his hair, tugging gently as she deepened the kiss.

After what seemed like only a second and several lifetimes, they broke apart. Something within him had shifted, but he wasn't sure what. All he truly knew was that he wanted her lips on his again. He wanted even more than that: to feel her lithe body against his, to make her writhe in pleasure around him.

She was staring into his eyes, breaths coming out in soft huffs. He distantly thought he should be embarrassed by how hard he was against her belly, but he only felt desire.

"Ginny…" he said. His voice sounded husky to his ears. He watched as she bit her lip and stared into his face, like she was looking for something. He couldn't bring himself to pull away, but he knew that they shouldn't move so fast. _Not with her_ , he thought. Merlin, how he ached to feel her around him, all wet and warm.

Ginny whimpered in his arms, wriggling against his hardness.

He stifled a moan. "We should each go home," he said reluctantly.

"Please, Harry," she whispered. "Please take me home."

She was trembling, and he couldn't resist the thirst in her eyes. "Okay," he said.

After a moment's concentration, they disappeared from the Hogsmeade alley and reappeared near Harry's flat. "We don't have to walk too far," he assured her.

They stopped to kiss again in the moonlight. Her body sealed to his as they kissed, her hands finding their way to his trousers. He twitched, and she groaned in approval.

"Ginny," he choked out. "We're almost there."

She nodded, disengaging her hand. He wanted to sprint up the steps to the building, and all the way up the stairs. On the third floor landing, he pushed her against the wall and kissed her again. Ginny moaned into his mouth, and he allowed himself to be the naughty one this time, letting his hand wander to her bum and squeeze before it trailed around her front, caressing her. She moaned again, hips bucking.

He chuckled darkly, kissing her again before pulling her up the remaining flights and into his flat. He turned on the lamp by the sofa as they found their way there.

"Please, Harry," she whimpered again.

"Please, what?" he asked, staring into her amber-coloured eyes.

"Please touch me," she answered. She pulled him towards her body and kissed him. He wasn't sure if his brain could take much more of the misfiring, but it felt like an eruption within him all over again. He groaned, hand fumbling with the button to her trousers. He rubbed her lightly above her clothes, feeling the damp underneath his fingers before returning to that damned button.

Finally, it snapped open. Hallelujah, he briefly thought before his fingers found their way inside Ginny's knickers.

Impatiently, Ginny guided his fingers inside of her. She was so wet, so warm. She was tight around his finger, hips undulating in a circular motion as if in search of _more_. His thumb found her button, rubbing it gently. As if that had been what she had been seeking, he felt her tighten even more around his finger before he added one more finger. It was her undoing.

With a breathy sigh, her legs began to quiver, and she was pulsating around him. Her eyes opened a few moments later, pupils dilated. She brought his mouth to hers and kissed him, tongue gently seeking entrance.

"Take me to the bed, Harry," she told him breathily.

Who was he to deny a lady such a request?


	5. Chapter 4: dreams & nightmares

_**CHAPTER FOUR: DREAMS & NIGHTMARES** _

Harry's lips pressed hard against hers as he led them to his bed. Ginny pulled his bottom lip into her mouth and bit down gently before pushing him backwards and straddling him. Rubbing her core against him, she gasped in pleasure. Oh, he felt so good against her.

Ginny kissed him on the lips again, trailing kisses down his torso as she lifted his shirt. She needed to touch his skin, to feel all of him against her own skin. She made her way down past his belly button and undid his jeans, pulling them down his thighs. She placed a soft kiss against his erection trapped in his briefs as she removed the trousers even further. She nibbled on his thigh for a moment, taking pride in hearing him curse.

She made her way back up his body again, rubbing her core against him once more.

"Oh, Harry, please," she whined.

Without skipping a beat, he flipped them over so that he was on top of her.

"Tell me what you want, Ginny," he said, touching her aching center.

"Please, Harry. I want you inside me."

"Your wish is my command," he whispered. He pulled her trousers off her, cursing as they got caught on her feet. She giggled lightly until he rubbed his body against her.

She whimpered. "Oh, Harry."

He grabbed her breast, and her brain went haywire for a moment.

She wasn't sure how they became completely naked, but she accepted it wholeheartedly. Harry guided himself to her entrance, looking into her eyes for one more approval before he sheathed himself in her.

There were no thoughts in her head except the words _finally_ and _home_ floating amidst the pleasure.

"You feel so good inside me," Ginny gasped out.

Harry grunted something unintelligible back to her as he continued to thrust into her.

He brought his hand back to her nub and rubbed it, and that was all it took for Ginny—again. Her back arched as she was overcome by waves of pleasure. "Oh, fuck," she moaned. Harry brought her mouth to his and kissed her, passion in every movement.

"I want to see you on top of me," Harry whispered huskily. She nodded, but still pouted as he pulled out of her. As soon as they were resituated, Ginny mounted him, groaning in approval once he was back inside her.

Harry's green eyes were darker than she'd ever seen, she thought vaguely as she rode him. She admired how his hands looked on her waist and breast, his darker skin tone beautiful against her creamy one. She could get used to this—wouldn't mind a repeat performance, she thought right before she saw stars again.

She felt him twitching inside her and the warm liquid filled her. She kissed him as he came, relishing the look on his face.

When she felt that he was done, she rolled off him and cuddled into his side. She felt boneless and happy. Sated in a way that she never had been before. She realized as she came back down from the high that they were both panting.

"That was… amazing," Harry whispered.

She could only nod for a moment as she nestled herself further into his arms.

 _So warm_.

"Harry?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

"I want you to know I don't usually do this. Go home with someone without knowing them."

"I know," he told her.

"And how do you know that?" Ginny looked up into his face earnestly, extremely curious while somehow dreading his answer.

"I feel like I know you," Harry informed her. "Not that it would matter if you did go home with wizards often," he assured, running his hand through her hair reverently.

"No?" Ginny asked.

"All that matters is that you're with me, right now," Harry said, kissing her forehead.

She ran her fingers over his bare chest, taking in the softness of his skin, the way his sheets felt against her bare bottom, and the way his hair was slightly sweaty, sticking to his forehead. She placed a chaste kiss on his chest. She wanted to stay here forever—but she really couldn't.

"I'd better get going," she told him after some moments of silence.

He looked confused for a moment before understanding dawned on his face. "Are you sure you don't want to shower first, and maybe eat something?"

Both of those things sounded so nice, Ginny thought. She had some things around her flat she needed to do… but food, after that bit of indulgence, seemed like something that was important.

"Well, maybe a quick bite, but then I do really have to go," she acquiesced.

He grinned. "I can make anything you want. Anything you're in the mood for?"

Ginny thought about it. No, nothing sounded particularly good. "Surprise me," she told him.

"Can do," he replied. He placed a kiss on her head before he gently got out from underneath her, disentangling his limbs. Ginny admired his bare bum as he bent over to pick up a pair of shorts. She had always had a thing for bums, she had to admit. And Harry's bum was the finest she'd seen in a long time—if ever.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that she'd been at work, wondering what his body would feel like against hers, and now here she was in his bed. Harry's bed. _Merlin_ , she thought, as she did the math. That had only been two or three days before. She'd never made such quick work of someone before. Then again, she had never wanted someone the way she wanted Harry.

Even after the amazing shag, Ginny still wanted Harry. It was as if she couldn't get enough of him.

She heard him puttering about in the kitchen and Ginny wondered if she should get up and help, or if she should stay in bed. Would it be presumptuous for her to stay in bed, and expect Harry to wait on her? She thought the bed was awfully comfortable and warm. She also felt that if she got out of bed, she'd have to find her clothes sooner, and she didn't quite feel up to that yet.

She resolved to stay in his bed until it was time for her to leave, which would happen more quickly than she would like. She snuggled into the blankets, covering her head, and closing her eyes.

Even now in her post-coital bliss, those potions were calling to her. It was an ache within her, whispering for her attention. She was completely sober right now, she realized. The pain that she normally felt when sober was a small phantom, echoing inside of her quietly. Usually it was like a steam-engine.

She clenched her eyes shut more tightly and tried to ignore the siren call. She focused on what she'd just felt with Harry, and the way his bum had looked as he'd gotten up. She pictured him in the little kitchenette she'd vaguely noticed on her way to the bedroom with him, wearing shorts and nothing else as he fried something up.

She was vacillating between her craving for two entirely different drugs and she felt as if she might fall off the cliff if she indulged too much in either.

She heard the door creak as it opened further and distracted from her inner war. She opened her eyes and poked her head out from the covers.

"Asleep already?" Harry joked. He was carrying two plates and two mugs.

She smiled at him and sat up, the covers falling away from her chest as she did so. She noticed Harry's eyes linger on her breasts as it fell away, and the heat his gaze caused nearly overwhelmed her for a moment. _Merlin_ , she thought yet again, _he'll be my undoing_.

Another thought followed closely behind the first one: _he already has been your undoing, multiple times._

Ginny pushed away the thoughts and focused on the plate Harry was handing her. It was beans and cheese on toast, with two slices of thick bacon on the side

"You sure know the way to a girl's heart, Potter," she told him. "Or at least, her pants." She took the mug from him again as he laughed.

"I figured it would be good sustenance for whatever you've got going at this ungodly hour," he said.

She took a sip from the mug, happily surprised to find that it was warm and creamy Lady Grey tea. "How'd you guess about the Lady Grey?" she asked.

Harry shrugged sheepishly. "It's a twist on a classic."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, but instead of saying anything further, she took a bite of bacon.

"Sweet Merlin, this is good," she said around a mouthful.

Harry laughed again, and she silently rejoiced in the sound of it as she continued to finish her bite. "Is there anything you're not good at?" she asked.

"Erm… well, I'm pants at cleaning charms," Harry told her.

"That's a weakness, for sure," Ginny agreed. "It's all in your intention."

"That's what I've been told, but I can't seem to get the laundry to fold straight, or for the dishes to completely clean."

She cut into the beans and toast, spearing it on her fork and savoring it as it entered her mouth. It was like a mouth orgasm, the flavours producing a tingle of pleasure on her taste buds.

After she recovered, she said, "There's manuals for that, you know. Or, if you're brave, you can always attend the Molly Weasley Household Charms Bootcamp. It's a sleepaway camp where you're subjected to overeating and household chores every day."

As she took another bite, she realized that she may have inadvertently invited him to meet her mother. Surely, he would take it for the joke it was. After all, they hadn't even been on a date yet. Or maybe never, she thought. Maybe this was a one-time thing. Who knew? Not her.

Harry was eating his own beans and toast with cheese, munching away as he, too, looked lost in thought. Should she say something else? Had she made it awkward? Should anything feel awkward after she'd shared herself with him? Even though she felt like he should know her by heart after their romp, she knew there were things she couldn't tell him.

No, there were many things in her life that Ginny would never be able to tell him. Things that were buried beneath layers of shame and secrecy that no one knew. She realized that no one knew her completely. Not even those that had known her during the war and had witnessed the lengths she'd gone to not only keep herself safe, but those around her who were more vulnerable. She'd gone to great lengths to try to keep the younger students' innocence intact, but she knew she hadn't succeeded as well as she could have.

And still, she didn't feel nearly as much shame about those things as she did about the state her life was in currently. And Harry could never know about it.

He was an Auror, she thought with more clarity than she had all night. How could she even think about dating an Auror? This was all a mistake, Ginny told herself.

Ginny's appetite for the beans and toast had vanished instantly as she realized the implications of her actions. She looked at Harry, who still was eating and looking deep in thought.

"I have to go now," she told him, perhaps more coldly than she'd meant to.

He looked at her in surprise but nodded. "I can take your dishes and walk you out," he told her.

"Thank you," she said. She stood up and looked around for her clothes. There were her knickers, on the floor across the bedroom. And her trousers were a few feet away, as well. She pulled them both on quickly, feeling dirty and guilty.

Ginny walked into the living room, finding both her bra and her blouse on the floor near the sofa. She put them on quickly, and then pulled on her shoes too.

When she turned around, Harry was standing behind her, completely clothed. He was running a hand through his messy, raven hair, looking a little lost.

"I can walk myself to the Apparition point," she told him.

He looked like he was debating with himself. "If you don't mind, I'll walk with you," he finally replied.

Ginny nodded without saying anything and allowed him to lead her out of his flat. The walk seemed even longer than it had on the way up, and now there was a coldness between them. Now she'd made things awkward. She felt awful about it. She didn't want it to end like this, but it had to.

Her life was one that he couldn't enter. No, he didn't belong in the world that she'd immersed herself in. He was too good for it, she told herself. Not only that, but he couldn't ever find out about her sideline activities. She bit her lip as she looked up at him, still wanting Harry with every fibre of her being. The heat of wanting was filling her up, threatening to burn her from the inside out.

She couldn't ever have him again, she told herself. It was the reality of the life she led.

They finally reached the Apparition point and she waved at him as she blinked out of existence.

Ginny found herself a block from her own flat and continued to walk. It was colder than she'd noticed at Harry's, and she realized that autumn would be here before she knew it. She pulled her jacket more tightly against her, feeling as if the weight of the world were pressing down on her.

All she could think about was the sweet relief the potion would bring her. She wouldn't feel so nasty once she had it down her throat. Sometimes she didn't think there was anything as good as the rush she got right after she took it. Everything else—besides Harry, apparently—had paled as soon as she'd been given the potion after her Quidditch injury.

She knew she'd have to kick the habit once she saved enough money to go to Curse-breaking school, but for now, it was her life. She enjoyed it. It made her art better, too, she thought. It lent her more creativity, made her brushstrokes more beautiful.

And, of course, it took away any pain she felt.

Ginny found herself nearly running up the stairs to her flat, foregoing the lift, as that would take even longer. She could almost feel the warmth of it inside her body, the way she'd feel whole again. She just needed to get her hands on it, and she would be happy.

She unlocked her door with her password, not even caring who may be around to hear, and slammed the door behind her as she walked quickly to its hiding place beneath her bed.

She pressed her thumb against the lock and heard it click. She opened the box, and grabbed a vial, unstopping it in moments. She poured the whole vial back in ecstasy, ready for the relief and happiness it would bring.

Only, there was no lessening of the pain in her back. And she still felt like shite about leaving Harry the way she had. Merlin, she wanted him still. Why didn't she feel better? She wondered. Maybe she should take more, she decided. Should she do a smaller portion, or the whole next vial?

Ginny decided to wait a little bit and see.

She laid down on her small twin-sized bed, feeling as if the world was simultaneously spinning and crushing her.

She needed something and she wasn't sure what anymore. What was she missing? She wanted Harry again, for one thing. And for another, she wanted normalcy. What was that, anyway?

What was normal, anymore? She hadn't been normal for years. Maybe since before Hogwarts, even. What would her life be like if Tom Riddle had never even existed?

Normal, she guessed, unable to picture it.

She decided another vial of potion wouldn't hurt and reached down to the box on the floor to grab it. It was the second to last one, she realized.

She opened it and knocked it back, dropping it on her bedside table.

The clatter it made startled her for a moment, not having been expecting it to be quite so loud. She laid back against her pillow, thinking it had never felt comfier. The room was spinning now, too, the bed beginning to tilt unpleasantly beneath her. She felt like she was on one of those muggle rollie-coasters, and she closed her eyes, hoping it would help. It seemed to continue, even though she couldn't see the room spinning anymore.

She felt something claw its way up her stomach, and she tried to push it down. Unable to quash it, she leaned over the side of the bed and retched onto the floor. On and on it went before the world blackened around her.

When she awoke, Ginny was in her old dormitory at Hogwarts, and it was nighttime. There was no pain in her back now, only a feeling of intense fear.

She got up from her bed as quietly as possible and tip-toed around the room. Her dorm mates were all sleeping in their own four-poster beds, and safe, as far as she could tell.

She left the dorm room and quietly made her way downstairs. She wasn't wearing a nightdress, like she expected, but her school robes. Had she fallen asleep wearing them? she wondered.

The Gryffindor common room was empty, and the fire mere ashes in the fireplace. No one ever kept the fire going late anymore. She pulled her wand out of her pocket and disillusioned herself. It was a spell they had been working on in the D.A. lately, and Ginny had found herself rather talented at them.

She climbed into the portrait-hole and pushed open the Fat Lady's portrait, carefully stepping down onto the flagstone. She quietly closed the portrait and could almost have sworn she made eye contact with the Fat Lady as the portrait whispered, "Who is there? You'd best get back to bed!"

She ignored the Fat Lady and continued her quest. She had overheard Alecto Carrow making plans with another Death Eater on the floo one day as she'd been leaving detention, and her own plan had been born.

She couldn't continue to allow things to happen in her school. None of them were safe here. Especially with the Carrows running rampant. It was up to Ginny to stop Alecto and Amycus.

There was only one thing Ginny could do that would put a permanent stop to her Death Eater professors.

She trudged down further to the dungeons, feeling sick to her stomach all the while. _You must do this, Ginny,_ she told herself. _You must keep everyone safe. You must be safe._

When was the last time she'd felt safe? Sometime before all this. When she was thirteen, she realized. She was seventeen now. It had been four fucking years, Ginny thought. All she wanted was to feel safe again.

With renewed fervor, she marched to Alecto's quarters, and knocked on the door. It took a few moments, but the door opened with a faint creak.

Alecto looked around. "What the fuck?" She muttered, unable to see Ginny.

Ginny slid past her into her quarters, waiting until Alecto closed the door again before wordlessly placing a silencing charm on the room. Another skill she had been practicing in the D.A.

She cancelled her disillusionment charm, and dramatically knocked an ink pot over on the desk next to the door.

Alecto spun around; eyes narrowed. However, when they fell upon Ginny, she began to sneer. "What are you doing in my quarters, Weasley?"

"Oh, you know. Just being a blood traitor," she told Alecto lightly. "Ruining the cause one Death Eater at a time."

"You'll rot in detention for this, you brat!"

"Oh, I'm not the one who will be doing the rotting," Ginny taunted again.

"Why—you!"

Ginny had an advantage on Alecto, she knew. Alecto still hadn't drawn her wand, for whatever reason. " _Petrificus Totalus_!" Ginny shouted.

Alecto froze and fell backward. Ginny walked closer and stood over her. "How does it feel to be powerless, Alecto?"

Alecto, obviously, didn't answer.

"How does it feel to know that I could snuff you out, or leave you here to die?" Ginny didn't know where this was coming from anymore, but out it poured.

She had planned this out, but she suddenly wondered if there was any honour at all in killing someone who was unable to defend themselves. She stepped back and thought a moment before deciding that she did not give a flying fuck about honour right now.

There was no honour in war, only survival. And she would be the one to survive this war, even if she had to kill Tom Riddle himself if it came down to it. She wouldn't be a casualty.

Alecto would, though. " _Avada Kedavra_ ," Ginny whispered, wand pointing at the Death Eater. Her hand didn't even quiver as she cast the spell.

The sickly green light travelled from her wand to Alecto on the floor, and Ginny felt the releasing of her previous spell as the life left the Death Eater's body in the space of a second.

Alecto Carrow was dead, and Ginny Weasley had killed her. Now, what to do with the body? Feed it to the acromantulas? Dump it in the lake? Hang it in the entrance hall for all to see?

The acromantulas would leave the least amount of evidence against her, she reasoned.

She wasn't sure how she did it, but she made her way to the Forbidden Forest with Alecto's body and left it where she knew the nest was.

She stumbled back towards the castle, and the images played in her mind endlessly. She didn't feel victorious, and she still didn't feel safe.

She only felt dirty. She felt vile, even. She had murdered someone, in cold blood. It wasn't self-defence if she hadn't been in danger at the time. Her stomach revolted as she remembered. Vomit made its way up her throat, burning everything in its path.

She fell on all fours, still retching, and then, she woke up.

Again, but this time in her flat, on her bed, vomit dried on her face and next to her bed.

Merlin's saggy y-fronts, it smelled putrid. She wiped at her face and stared at the clock on her bedside table, trying to focus her eyes on the time.

It was four in the afternoon. Sunlight was shining in through her one, tiny window. Gods, her head hurt like hell, too.

She tried to remember the night before, but all she could envision was her dream, her memory from Hogwarts. Why did she dream of that awful night?

She stumbled out of her bed, making sure to avoid her pile of sick. Where was her wand?

She looked desperately for it, finally finding it on the floor by her doorway. What had she done last night?

" _Evanesco_ ," she muttered, vanishing the sick. She desperately needed a shower. As she stood under the hot water, hair plastered to her head, darkening from copper to auburn, she remembered.

The Burrow, Seamus' pub, Harry. Shagging Harry Potter. And it hadn't been just any shag, but it had been the best shag of her life. Her head was still pounding, but she pushed through to remember the rest of it. Leaving him, deciding she couldn't see him. And then, the potion.

Merlin, she could have died from the amount she'd taken! No wonder she'd been sick. As she lathered her hair with shampoo, she realized that she'd missed her shift, too.

Shite, she thought. She needed this job. She was supposed to be there at half-nine, and here she was, eight hours later, waking up. How could she be so fucking irresponsible? She should have known better, Ginny berated herself.

She'd have to owl her boss as soon as she was out of the shower and explain that she'd come down with a bug of some sort. She really needed this job.

She hurried through her shower, still feeling like shit. Towel wrapped around her body, she scampered to her desk and grabbed her quill, shaking the images of the inkwell from her memory.

She apologized profusely in her note, making an excuse that she was ill, and that she hadn't known she'd sleep through her alarms. She grabbed the post ordering form and pressed her wand to a small, quick looking owl. Hopefully, it would arrive from the nearest owl order office quickly. She knew the office wasn't too far away.

She made sure everything in her flat was clean of any of her vomit as she pulled on a pair of comfortable shorts and that old Gryffindor t-shirt. She just wanted to be comfortable, she still felt as if she had a massive hangover.

She'd never done that before, and she was not eager for a repeat performance.

She had never even finished what she'd set out to do the night before when she'd left Harry's flat.

She pulled out the roll of canvas she'd been sent by an owl that matched the painting she'd given Master Doru and grabbed her paints from beneath the sink. She set her paint corner up, making sure that she had the perfect lighting for what she needed to do.

Ginny had always loved painting, but she had really taken it up after the war. Painting and Quidditch were her two favourite things, though she didn't have Quidditch anymore.

Ginny turned on her wireless and began to paint.


	6. Chapter 5: ad astra per aspera

_**CHAPTER FIVE: AD ASTRA PER ASPERA** _

As Harry watched Ginny disapparate away, he wondered what he'd done wrong.

He combed the evening over in his mind again, going through every moment he'd had with her. Had he been too quiet afterwards, while they'd been eating? He had been hoping to show her that he didn't want this to be a one-night stand by cooking her food and inviting her to stay longer.

Maybe she really did just have things to do back at home, and her night with him had disrupted them.

He shivered as a cold breeze blew through the street. He wrapped his arms around himself as he walked back up to his flat, determined to get some rest before he had to get to work.

He looked down at his watch as he made his way to bed; it was half-three in the morning. Merlin, no wonder he was knackered.

He _noxed_ all the lights as he lay in bed, suddenly feeling incredibly lonely.

He rolled onto his side and forced himself to sleep.

Harry's alarm went off much sooner than he'd have liked. Six am.

He got ready for work rather robotically, and then decided not to bother with the hair-taming charms he usually attempted. When he arrived at the Ministry, he headed straight up to the coffee percolating in the Auror's breakroom.

While it was still steaming, he took a gulp, nearly cursing as he burnt his tongue. Today just didn't seem to be his day, he thought.

As he sat at his desk across from Longbottom, Harry decided that he would have to get his act together before he met with his confidential informant for lunch.

"How was your night, mate?" Neville asked him, voice gravelly with sleep.

"Wha?" Harry asked, mid-sip.

"Your evening?"

"Oh, it was normal. You know—an evening of loneliness in my flat, and not feeling like there are ever enough hours in the day."

Longbottom raised his eyebrows at Harry in concern, or maybe it was confusion, but did not comment.

"How was your night?" Harry forced himself to reciprocate the pleasantry.

"It was good," Neville said. "Alice slept for almost five hours before she woke us up," he explained. "Of course, by the time I got her back to sleep, it was time for me to get up for work."

Neville hadn't done much sleeping either, it seemed.

Harry almost thought he could feel the circles under his eyes. Ignoring the feeling, he decided to bring up their case.

"So, what are we going to do if we can't turn up any new leads?" he asked his partner. "There doesn't seem to be a lot of evidence to point us one way or another?"

"I imagine if we don't turn anything up, it'll go cold and we'll get another case," Neville guessed. "I don't think they can continue to waste Auror resources on anything that doesn't include any dark magic."

"I know that Robards said it was mostly for the press, but I'm surprised they're even wasting the resources to begin with," Harry commented. He went to take another sip of coffee, only to find that he'd already emptied the cup. "Shite. Looks like it's a two-cup day, mate."

Neville laughed, and said, "Oi, get me a cup while you're there!"

Harry nodded as he walked back to the breakroom, still thinking about the case. None of it made sense. Why would the thief leave a rune for them to find? It would take precious time to carve it into the floor, especially that kind of floor, and most thieves needed every second.

Unless, of course, the thief knew a spell that could freeze time, he surmised, thinking of Hermione using it at the crime scene. Hermione, too, knew her runes. No, it couldn't be?

No, he told himself. What would her motive be?

Selling a painting worth millions of dollars. That could help supplement a civil-servant income. It could also help with any causes she supported on the side, like the S.P.E.W., as she called it. What the hell did that stand for, again? Harry wondered before forcing his mind back to the case.

If his suspicions were correct, he'd have to tread very carefully from now on. Should he share his suspicions with Neville? Would Neville even believe him? Or would he be offended that Harry would even suggest such a thing? Neville and Hermione had been in Dumbledore's Army together at Hogwarts, and that seemed to have instilled a sense of camaraderie within the students that had been part of the organization.

He'd have to tell Neville, he decided. Neville was his partner. No matter his war-time allegiances, he had to trust him. It was for the greater good, Harry thought, before shuddering at his own thought. The greater good had been used for many monstrosities.

Determined to tell Neville, he carefully carried the two steaming cups back to their desks.

"Longbottom, I thought of something, and you're not going to like it."

"No, Hermione would never steal art!" Neville maintained.

"I don't want it to be her either, but it makes sense," Harry argued hesitantly. "The rune, the time it would take to carve it into that marble floor! She used a spell at the crime scene that literally froze time!"

Neville frowned. "It can't be true!" He told Harry. "But that is a good point."

"And we didn't get any information from the police reports that _Hermione_ read through. Did you actually read any of it?" He asked Longbottom.

"No…"

"I didn't either. And remember how neat and ready to go she was when we were called into the Ministry earlier this week?"

"That's nothing out of the ordinary," Neville waved a hand dismissively. "We need hard proof before we decide that it's her."

"I wouldn't want it any other way," Harry told him. "Shall we get the reports and read them ourselves?"

Neville heaved a sigh but nodded. They sent a memo to the records department and their records arrived within minutes.

They each took a stack of reports and began to wade through them.

As Harry read, he found that the Muggle investigators had found a strand of long, wavy brown hair at the scene. It was still being tested for DNA, of course, but Harry didn't need any of that. The Wizarding world was, unfortunately, completely ignorant of any science whatsoever.

The hair did seem to be the only thing Hermione had left out when she'd summarized the reports. It wasn't a point in favor of her innocence, he thought. He didn't want Hermione to be the art thief, but so far it made the most sense.

He glanced at the watch that Remus had given him on his seventeenth birthday and discovered it was nearly lunch time. He had to meet with his confidential informant.

"Well, I'm off," he told Neville. "I don't think I'll be back after lunch either. I have a little too much overtime for Robards' liking, and he told me to cut my time elsewhere."

"Well, see you Monday," Neville told him.

"Have a good one," Harry said. "Give Hannah and little Alice my love."

Neville grinned, "I will!"

Harry waved as he headed down to the street exit. It would be best for him to Apparate home, first, and then to the pub. He didn't want to be followed, or his CI discovered.

A few sickening squeezes later found him at the Hogs' Head. It had always been an odd haunt, and it proved to be just as empty and dirty as he'd hoped for this lunchtime meeting. He grabbed a table in a dark corner and took a seat watching the room.

He waited for a few moments, ordering a butterbeer. Finally, his CI walked in just as he was about to give up and order his lunch.

"It took you long enough," he said.

"Well, a sale went a little longer than planned," Cho Chang said.

Cho was a pretty witch, and Harry thought she might be around his age. She dealt in high-end sales, both illegal and legal. He'd accidentally met her a year or two before in another theft case and had saved her from Azkaban by flipping her. He felt badly that he continued to use that, but he had found her useful too often to let her free of his influence.

"That's alright. It's always got to be business as usual," he told her.

Cho nodded. "So, what did you need to ask me about?"

"Earlier this week, a painting called _L'année dernière à Capri_ was stolen, and I was hoping that you'd seen it, or could keep an eye out to see if it turns up."

"Oh, the Raysse painting?" Cho asked. "I'd heard about that. Didn't think you'd be on the case, as it was stolen in France."

"It's the same thief we've been chasing here. It seems that the art in England wasn't enough."

Cho looked thoughtful. "I'll put feelers out, and act like I have an interested buyer," she told him. "I'm not sure it'll turn much up, if I haven't already heard that it's being sold."

Harry nodded. "I thought it might be a lost cause, but I figured that I'd have you check."

"I'm always the best witch for the job," she smirked.

Harry grinned at her despite himself. "You have proven yourself useful a time or two." He handed her a galleon. "If you find anything, give this coin a rub, and we'll meet back up here within an hour."

She took the galleon and nodded. "Protean charm, how clever."

Harry shook his head, draining the remainder of his butterbeer. "I'm going to get going. Have lunch on me." He placed a few sickles on the table, knowing that Cho wasn't exactly hurting for money, but that she'd accept the gesture, nonetheless.

He left the Hogshead and walked through the town, memories of the night before with Ginny clouding his mind.

Merlin, he still wanted her.

He obviously couldn't have her again.

He began to walk towards the school looming over the town. Hogwarts was an impressive looking castle, both somehow like something out of a gothic tale and a fairytale. He imagined what it would have been like to go there when he was a young wizard. Who would he have been close with? Which house would he have joined?

Sirius had always told Harry that he was a Gryffindor through and through, but Harry wasn't sure. It seemed impossible to think he only had traits from one house. Maybe that was why they sorted them at eleven—before they grew to be real, complicated people.

Still, sometimes he wished that he'd been able to be like the other wizards and witches his age. He would have had some marvelous adventures, he guessed.

The walk to the school was quick, and the doors opened to him as soon as he passed into the wards. They had seemed to do so the few times that he had visited since Voldemort had been defeated, for whatever reason.

He headed to the front doors, and then up to the Headmistress' office. The gargoyle stared at Harry unflinching, and he wondered if he should say something.

"Erm, would you let Headmistress McGonagall know that I'd like to see her?" he asked it.

It groaned deeply, and Harry couldn't tell if it was sassing him. Could stone gargoyles sass?

A few silent moments later, it groaned again, and said, "You may enter."

"Gee, thanks," he told it as it moved to the side.

The spiral stairs moved upwards, and he waited patiently until it revealed an office door. He knocked, and heard her say, "Enter."

Minerva McGonagall was sitting at a meticulously organized desk, looking over a page of parchment that seemed quite long.

"Harry," she smiled. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I was wondering if the Quidditch pitch was available for public use today?" he asked.

Headmistress McGonagall raised a single eyebrow, but said, "Let me check our pitch schedule." She opened a drawer and pulled out a parchment marked with dates. "It looks like it's your lucky day," she told Harry. "No one has it booked."

"Oh, thank Merlin. I need a good fly," he told her.

Her eyebrow stayed raised. "Well, you can have it until five. Then, you'll be joining me for dinner here at six."

Harry nodded in agreement, having expected as much. "I'll see you shortly after six," he grinned cheekily. He waved as he left her office and headed to the pitch.

It was a warm autumn day, many students sunning on the lawn or on the shores of the lake. Oh, to be young and carefree, thought Harry, daydreaming the life he'd never had.

There were students studying, students laughing, students playing tag. Harry smiled, glad to live in a world without the fear of Voldemort. This was what Hogwarts should have been like for his peers. These children, he thought, could be children here.

He continued his walk to the Quidditch pitch, excitement mounting at the thought of getting back on his broom. He pulled it out of his pocket and enlarged it to its original size. The Firebolt 360, with all the vintage specs of the original from 1993, but with all new safety and speed features. Harry had spent a long time deciding that the Firebolt 360 was the broom for him when he'd been shopping, and he had to admit it was the one thing about him that could be described as snobbish.

He climbed onto the broom and began to ascend. He started slow, taking a few small practice laps before he picked up speed, testing his limits more and more. Soon he was racing across the pitch, performing tricks, and taking steep dives, playing chicken with himself as the ground got ever-closer.

His heart was racing with joy and adrenaline as he began to head towards the ground again. The sun was beginning to set, he realized. He checked his watch; seventeen-forty-two.

He shrunk his broom and placed it in its travel case inside his pocket, before hurrying off the pitch and to the castle. As it got darker out, he discovered that there were less students about than there had been earlier. It made sense, as supper must have started in the Great Hall.

The sunset's colours reflected in the still surface of the lake and Harry thought of all the time he'd spent on the run, just wishing he was here with the other students, doing normal things. He hadn't known, of course, that some of the students were also fighting for their lives.

He'd been so young, so naive. No one had told him that Voldemort had taken over the Ministry of Magic for over a year, until he'd caught sight of headlines about the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. He'd been happy being ignorant of the pain in the world, trying desperately to find all of the Horcruxes and to train as hard as he could. At the time, what he had really wanted was to be normal—and to have a pretty girlfriend.

Thinking of Hogwarts always made Harry think about his own youth, though he'd spent none of it at the school. Something here made him nostalgic for a life he'd never had, and an alternate reality that never could have existed.

It was for the best, he decided as he reached the entrance hall, that he had grown up with Sirius and Remus. They had been amazing godfathers, and they'd done what any parents should—allowed him to be a child, while preparing him for what was to come.

As he walked through the corridor, he noticed a plaque commemorating Fred Weasley, one of Ginny's brothers. Harry had met him shortly before the final battle and had immediately discovered what a riot he and George were as they pranked him within seconds of meeting him. Chuckling, he continued on his way, glad for the happy memory of Fred.

He finally arrived at Headmistress McGonagall's seventh-floor office, this time having a password to give to the gargoyle. " _Ad Astra Per Aspera,"_ he told it. It stepped aside and the stairs began to move.

Knocking on the door, he stepped into her office. "Good fly?" She asked in greeting, lips twitching.

He grinned at her. "You know it always is."

And then, Minerva McGonagall did something incredibly rare. She smiled. "It's about time you came and visited."

It _had_ been too long. He'd last visited at Christmas the year before, when most of the students had been gone, and he had no one else to celebrate the holiday with. Minerva was like an aunt to him and had been since he'd been about ten.

Harry wasn't sure how, but Sirius had somehow managed to convince her of his innocence, and from there she had helped teach him the basics of magic, along with Remus, Sirius, and Hestia Jones, who had been rather talented at potions.

"Will there be treacle tart tonight?" He asked Minerva jokingly.

"You will have to see," she said. "And, of course, eat all your food first."

She ushered him towards another room, where he knew her dining area was. The room was small-sized with a small, round table covered in a tartan tablecloth that matched Minerva's robes. The portrait of Professor Dumbledore hung in this room, along with some ancient looking tapestries with the colours and insignias of the four founders of the school.

"Hello, Harry," Professor Dumbledore's portrait greeted him as they walked in.

A mixture of feelings stirred up within Harry as he looked at the portrait of Albus Dumbledore, and none of them were feelings he could name easily. "Hello, sir," he replied.

"I see that the weather is rather windy today," Professor Dumbledore commented.

Self-consciously, Harry's hand found its way to his hair. It was rather messier than normal—flying the way he had done would do that, he supposed. "Erm…" he stuttered.

Professor Dumbledore grinned benignly at him. "Quidditch hair, yes?"

"Yes sir," Harry replied.

"You can call me Albus, Harry. I've never been your teacher."

Harry looked at Minerva. He hadn't been close with Dumbledore growing up—Sirius had kept him away for the most part, besides short interactions before and after smaller Order meetings at the Marauder's Den. "Albus," Minerva started. "Weren't you saying something earlier about meeting with some of the portraits in the library for book club tonight?"

Portraits had book club? Harry wondered, before deciding he'd seen stranger things happen at Hogwarts.

"Oh yes, that is correct," Dumbledore glanced at the clock in the wall of the dining room. "I am quite late. I had better get going—we read something from that American Muggle woman's book club… what was her name? Ah, Oprah!"

Harry stifled a snicker and watched Dumbledore disappear. Minerva tutted and placed her wand to the plates set out on the table. A house-elf appeared by their sides, holding a picnic basket. He had large, green eyes that reminded Harry of tennis balls, and bat-like ears that seemed large, even for a house-elf. The house-elf looked at Harry and squeaked a very high-pitched sound, dropping the picnic basket.

"Harry Potter, sir," he said reverently. "It is an honour to meet you!"

Harry couldn't help but stare, open-mouthed at him. Minerva was giving him a pointed look. "Oh, er, well it's nice to meet you too, er… what's your name?"

"My name?" he squeaked. "No wizard has ever cared to ask Dobby his name before! You are more good than they say!"

"Yes, this is Dobby," Minerva finally intervened. "He's one of our newer elves, that the Ministry gifted to Hogwarts when the Malfoy estate was confiscated."

"They gifted you a living creature?" he asked, taken aback. He'd been working in the Ministry, of course, but hadn't thought that he would need to keep up with what the Ministry did with confiscated property—he certainly hadn't thought that that property would include house-elves.

Dobby burst into tears, and Minerva only shrugged, lips pursed and a look in her eye Harry wasn't sure he'd ever seen.

"Erm, is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" Harry asked. He felt twelve again, confused by the stranger parts of the wizarding world.

Dobby sobbed harder. "No, no sir. Dobby is so grateful to be away from the bad Mr. Malfoy, and it is thanks to you."

Harry felt even more uncomfortable. "I'm glad I could help," he said awkwardly, really wishing that he had a sandwich or something so he could stop talking. He reminded himself to donate to S.P.E.W., forgetting briefly that Hermione Granger was his lead suspect currently.

"Dobby," Minerva said carefully. "Would you be able to get us another basket of food?"

"Of course, Headmistress!" Dobby replied, wiping his tears and snot on his pillowcase. Pillowcase? Harry thought, looking closer. It was indeed a pillowcase that Dobby was wearing.

Dobby disappeared with a large pop, and Harry looked at his aunt. "Er, have you ever thought about freeing the elves?"

Her eyes bugged out of her head. "I had not," she replied primly. "The elves seem to like being here."

"What if you, er, paid them?" he hedged.

"That, I have considered. It's been becoming clearer and clearer with the progress being made within the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures that house-elves count more as magical beings than creatures, and therefore shouldn't be enslaved. Unfortunately, I ultimately need the approval of the school governours."

"So, it'll never happen," Harry guessed. She nodded.

A different house-elf appeared with the basket, and a nice bottle of goblin meade. "We are sorry, Headmistress McGonagall, ma'am, for Dobby."

"Think nothing of it, Blinken," Minerva said. "Thank you for dinner."

The house-elf bowed and disappeared; the pop much quieter than Dobby's had been.

"Enough of politics," Minerva said, and a small smile lit up her face. "Have you met anyone, lately?"


	7. Chapter 6: the labyrinth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where things take yet another darker turn! But, I also think it gets a little more fun. I guess, depending on your definition of the word.

_**CHAPTER SIX: THE LABYRINTH** _

Ginny stared at the empty box, once filled with potions. She felt just empty as the box, picturing what it once held. She knew what this meant, too—it filled her with a sense of dread to think of it. She would have to go back to Master Doru's manor to get more for her stash. Ginny didn't have the strength right now to go without, not after what had happened with Harry the other day.

Thinking of him seemed to send her into a spiral of desire, guilt, anger, and then finally, numbness. It wasn't as if she were in love with him, but something inside her did feel a magnetic pull towards him that she had never experienced before. None of her past lovers had ever elicited such a feeling.

Of course, she hadn't been an addict then, either.

Ginny gnawed on her lip as the pain in her back grew worse at the thought of not going back to Doru's. She needed to go back.

She stood up, throwing the box in the trash bin. They would provide another for her next stash, and she didn't need extra boxes around. Ginny grabbed the painting-in-progress to show Doru her efforts. It wasn't too shabby, if she said so herself. Very promising beginnings, though still nowhere near the masterpiece it would be within the next few weeks.

She supposed, on the bright side of everything going on in her life, at least she had time now to complete the painting during the day. She had been fired from the Leaky Cauldron, despite her best attempts to cajole and plead to keep her spot on payroll. One missed shift, and she was out. She knew that she needed to find another gig to keep her flat, but now she would have to wait until after she finished the painting.

After all, what was a flat, compared to one's life?

Ginny charmed her hair brunette again, almost sure that everyone at Doru's knew exactly who she was despite the change in colour. Still, it did make her feel safer if there was anyone outside the usual there.

She decided to fly her motorcycle this time. The weather outside was beautiful, golden autumn sunlight dappling through the trees outside her flat.

Ginny wore her leather jacket, grabbed the painting and her helmet, and walked up the stairs to the roof where she stored the motorcycle behind a magical privacy fence she had installed for it when she'd moved in.

Placing the keys into the ignition, she grinned as it rumbled to life. Her baby, her first purchase after she'd gotten hired on with the Harpies. Lucky, her bonus had been enough to pay for it outright, otherwise she would have had to sell it to get rid of her monthly payments. The motorcycle was Ginny's one luxury she had left in her life.

She pushed away the memories of the life she'd led when she'd been a chaser for the Holyhead Harpies and focused on the drive she'd be making. It would take her an hour or two to get there, but she anticipated that the trip would help her clear her head a bit. Flying always did.

She pressed the invisibility booster button and took off to Staffordshire.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Harry was all she could think about as she drove. The way the light caught in his dark, lustrous, and messy hair. The green shade of his eyes darkening above her as he prepared to enter her, and the way his calloused hands had felt against her cheek.

Ginny shook her head of the memories, pushing it all into the furthest recess of her mind.

As she continued her drive, the air got chillier and more damp. She found herself shivering in her leather, wondering if she should turn around. It certainly seemed like an omen as the sky continued to darken, rain clouds gathering around her. Finally, Ginny decided to land, preferring not to get struck by lightning.

She drove the motorcycle on the ground the rest of the way to the manor. By the time she arrived, she was soaked through to the bone. Teeth chattering, she pushed the electic button on the entrance gates, barely able to keep her finger steady. She waited for a moment, the chill reminding her of the chamber, and as the gate finally opened, the rain began pouring even harder, hitting Ginny's face like sharp pellets of ice. Wincing, she ran towards the front doors, glad to have shelter so near.

The door opened quickly enough, as if they had prepared themselves when she had buzzed in at the gates. It was Morana who opened the door to let her in, her eyes widening at the sight of Ginny, pale and shivering.

"Come in, quickly," Morana ushered her in. "I can take you to get changed into something dry before you meet with the Master."

Ginny nodded, every muscle in her body quivering and cramping. Nothing sounded better than a hot bath, dry clothing, and steaming hot tea.

Morana led her to a part of the manor she had never seen before. Everything seemed to grow colder the further back they walked. The artwork, too, grew more grotesque, and Ginny suppressed a shudder. At the end of a long, dark corridor, Morana opened a large oak door and motioned for Ginny to go in. With some trepidation, she stepped into the room. Frankly, she wasn't surprised by what she found inside. It matched every part of the manor that she had seen thus far—antiquated, rich in color and old-world feel.

There were also statuettes of serpents set on various surfaces, and she wondered if they knew just how much she fucking hated snake statues. It felt like they taunted her every time she visited.

The carpets laid over the limestone flooring were plush and expensive feeling under her feet; she immediately removed her shoes so she wouldn't ruin it. She wondered if it was Turkish but did not voice her questions to Morana.

"You can draw a bath if you would like, cousin," Morana gestured to the corner of the room. "The lavatory is right through that closed door."

"I'll be back in an hour or so to escort you to the Master, cousin."

Ginny nodded wordlessly and watched as Morana left, closing the door behind her. She gravitated towards the door Morana had shown her, opening it hesitantly.

It was indeed a lavatory, with a large, clawfoot bathtub that looked wonderful to bathe in. Oh, how Ginny adored long, hot baths.

She played with the taps for a moment, twisting them this way and that until the water was the perfect temperature. She peeled off the wet clothes, feeling as if she were ripping a plaster off her whole body. She unplaited her hair and turned off the tap, grabbing a thick luxurious looking towel off the nearby rack.

Setting it on the table next to the tub, she climbed in and allowed herself to sink down into the water. Her skin burned deliciously, and she knew that she would be red when she emerged.

She watched as tendrils of steam billowed upwards from the water, delighting in the humidity and the cool sheen of water it left on the sides of the tub. Her muscles relaxed for the first time in hours. Holding her breath, Ginny submerged herself completely, enjoying the way her hair looked as it moved in the water currents.

After what seemed like ages, the water started to cool, and Ginny climbed out of the bathtub grudgingly. She luxuriated in the feeling of the soft towel against her skin, rubbing every part of herself to dry. Wrapping the towel around her body, she walked into the bedroom proper and looked for where she might find the dry clothing Morana had promised.

There wasn't anything set out, so she checked the wardrobe. The only thing that it held was a dress that looked like it belonged in the Regency era. It had Bishop-style sleeves, an empire waist, and a wide, square neckline. Worst of all, it was pink! Albeit, it was a lighter, prettier shade of pink, but she still made sure to look for anything else the room might have had.

Of course, it had absolutely nothing else.

Regrettably, the old-style dress was the only thing to wear besides her wet clothes, which had mysteriously disappeared while she had been in the bath… in their place, a hot cup of tea with crème.

She put the dress on, glad to find that it at least did not confine her movements. Finding a brush on the beside table, she ran it through her hair, working out any tangles that had found their way into the strands.

She sipped at the tea, finding that it was her favourite that Morana always brought to her—Lady Grey, and honey. There was a hint of something else in the flavor, but Ginny couldn't quite place it.

She was finally somewhat presentable, and she thought that Morana ought to have appeared by now, but she was still alone.

Ginny sat down on the bed, looking around at the art that decorated the room, ignoring the snake statuettes.

In the room, the paintings only had unmoving landscapes. She wasn't sure if the occupants were out visiting friends, or if they were Muggle art. Quirking an eyebrow, she moved closer to one that seemed familiar. It was a landscape, still, and she knew it wasn't the work of any renowned, great artist, but the painting style and stroke technique told her that the artist had considerable skill, and talent. Something in the way the strokes had been done made her feel like she was on some sort of precipice as she stared at the cliffside scene, and the way that the sea spray hit the treacherous looking rocks below.

She was sure it was just her artists' eye, more than anything else, that drew her to it. Ginny drained the small remainder of tea in her cup and set it down where she had found it, finally deciding she had had enough waiting.

Ginny opened the door and peered down the corridor. It was empty and seemed even darker than before. Nevertheless, she set out to find someone. Hopefully, Morana.

She couldn't quite remember where they had turned from at the other end of the corridor, as they had traversed many staircases and hallways and had seemed to double-back sometimes. She took a random guess, hoping that it was the right direction.

She climbed up a flight of stairs, feeling strangely woozy. The dress made her legs feel heavier, she decided. She didn't recognize where it had taken her. She hadn't been here before. Her heart began to race, images of other times and other places pushing their way to the front of her mind. Dark rooms, dungeons, wands drawn on her and her friends… the chamber, cold and wet and full of the echoed sounds of _slithering_ …

 _You're not there,_ Ginny told herself sternly. _You're a grown woman who can protect herself._

She wasn't sure if she believed it, but she tried to convince herself.

She walked carefully down the hallway, listening for any sound in the rooms she passed by. It was silence besides her own steps and the sound of the rain against the window at the end of the corridor.

When she reached it, Ginny stared out, trying to get a grasp of where she might be from the view of the gardens. It was so dark, though, that all she could see was the distant light of a town and the droplets of water on the glass. Everything else was obscured by the night.

Another corridor to her right was the only choice, and so she followed it, thinking maybe it would lead her somewhere. Just to another set of stairs, it seemed.

On and on it went, dizzying Ginny. Finally, in what she thought might be a lower level, she heard sounds from something other than her own heart.

The sound of a voice—it sounded like it might be Master Doru, she thought. Normally, she wouldn't approach him without prior arrangement, but she had been wandering lost for ages, and she just wanted this nightmare to end.

She listened at the door for a moment, but she didn't hear anything else from inside. Opening the door carefully, Ginny looked through the small crack she had created.

It _was_ Master Doru, and someone else as well. He had his mouth to her neck, and Ginny couldn't tell if it was a kiss, or… something else. His eyes met hers, and his mouth detached from where it had been planted. Blood trickled down the smallest bit from the corner of his mouth, and he smiled, showing even more blood in the cracks of his teeth.

"Ginevra," he greeted. "How unexpected." He let go of the girl he had been holding onto, and she dropped like a limp ragdoll onto the floor.

"Hello, Master Doru," she said, keeping her voice steady.

"It is too bad you saw that," he told her.

"I didn't see anything if you didn't want me to," Ginny assured.

"Oh, Ginevra, if only that were true." In seconds, Master Doru had ripped the door from her grasp, opening it fully. He grasped onto her wrist and pulled her further into the room.

Ginny was torn between fighting him and freezing up. All these years, she had thought herself strong and brave. She had done horrible things in the name of staying alive, and protecting others, and now every bit of her that had felt like steel before felt like it was turning into something icy. Fear.

After a moment of awful indecision, she pulled her arm away from his hand, realizing how tightly he had grabbed her. He grabbed for her again, pulling her into his body.

"No!" she shouted, pushing against him. "No!"

Ginny reached for her wand, realizing that she hadn't had it in quite a while.

He tutted and stared into her eyes. She felt her will sliding away from her grasp, and Master Doru began to lean down towards her, lips so close to hers… revulsion echoed in her, but her body would no longer fight. At the last moment, his lips diverted from their path and found a new target: her neck.

His teeth lingered, scraping against her skin for the smallest second before they clamped down, sharp and awful.

Her mouth opened involuntarily, and Ginny wanted to scream in terror. She was trying to push away from him, to disengage him from her neck, but her body wouldn't move. And suddenly, his bite was both awful and wondrous.

Images began to find their way to the front of her mind again: memories that she had long kept hidden from even herself.

First was the Chamber of Secrets, and the way it had seemed like she was staring down at her own lifeless body from above as she had waited desperately for someone, anyone, to save her from Tom. He had gloated and gloated about what a stupid little girl she was, how she had been so naïve and trusting, how she had given him her _very soul_ and allowed him to live.

She saw Alecto Carrow's face, grinning madly as she tortured Ginny in front of her friends, and how she had allowed Amycus to tear her blouse open. She watched as she twitched on the ground in pain, unable to move, how Neville had come to her aid, but Alecto had turned her curse on him.

" _This is what happens to blood-traitors_ ," Alecto had told them all when Neville laid next to her on the cold, wet stone floor, unconscious and bleeding from his mouth.

Ginny felt like throwing up, the sight of Neville's injuries turning her stomach.

Now, she was marching to Alecto's quarters and murdering her. She was retching in the Forbidden Forest, already knowing that Amycus would be next. She was planning his death, making it crueler, but more honourable than Alecto's had been.

She was at that final battle of the war, watching a boy named Harry Potter die at Tom Riddle's hand. His body went limp, and Tom's high, cold laugh filled the terrible silence that surrounded them all. The Death Eaters were all laughing, too, taunting them. And Ginny marched toward the Dark Lord, intent on finishing him herself, or dying in the attempt.

It was her mother who held her back, hugging her to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Ginny felt so small and cold and alone, all her steel bars in her chest disintegrating into dust.

 _I am not a victim,_ Ginny thought. _I have survived every cruelty this world has offered me, and I am not dying here._ She was steel, cold and strong.

Finally, her arms worked again, her eyes pried themselves open. Ginny pushed Doru away, no longer afraid. She was angry, and there were warm rivulets of blood trickling down her neck onto the ugly, old dress that she had been forced to wear.

"Get the fuck away from me!" she yelled.

His dark eyes narrowed in anger. "You will not defy me, Ginevra," his eyes stared into hers, and she reciprocated, daring him to control her once again.

"You may not have noticed, but I defied the Dark Lord multiple times," she hissed. "I lived with him in my head for nine months, and I have quite a tolerance for those shuffling through my memories."

Her blood was on his high, white collar.

She saw red, casting a spell she had never attempted without a wand. " _Avada Kedavra_!"

The green spell flew from her fingers, hitting Doru in the chest. Ginny stared at him silently, shocked that she had even been able to cast the spell without her wand.

Doru, however, was not dead. No, he wasn't dead—but he was enraged. Snarling, he flew towards her, backhanding her across the face.

Ginny saw stars as she crumpled down, trying to keep her wits about her. "How dare you?" Doru growled. "Come into my home, ask for _my_ _potions_ that I know you need, and try to murder me!"

Out of breath and head spinning, Ginny grit out, "It's not murder if you're already soulless." It seemed to enrage him even more, and Ginny wondered if that would be the last thing she would ever say.

How could she escape? she wondered, trying to devise some sort of plan. Ginny had gotten herself out of a number of sticky situations before, but this seemed even more impossible than anything else that she had encountered—something she would have been hard-pressed to believe possible if anyone had asked her this morning.

If only she were an animagus, she thought. And if only she had her wand… how stupid it had been of her, she realized, to walk away from that room without it. She hadn't been thinking clearly, she admitted, though she wasn't sure why.

Merlin, she was so tired…

Doru was staring at her, as if waiting for her to try something else, but all she wanted to sleep. Still, she did have to at least try to run. Stumbling to the door, she opened it and began to run, her legs leaden cinder blocks that she had to drag along with her.

She felt like she'd been running forever, but when she stopped for a quick breath, she found herself back in the room with Doru.

"You cannot run, Ginevra," he informed her. "You're too weak from the blood loss, and the wandless magic, and, oh, yes, the potion that we put in your tea."

Somehow, Ginny felt even more betrayed than she had previously. Morana had dosed her? Was that the reason why she had even begun to wander this god-awful manor in the first place? Oh, she was so sleepy. She tried to keep her eyes open as the stars around her began to dance around her, but blackness engulfed her, and she knew no more.


	8. Chapter 7: dead end

_**CHAPTER SEVEN: DEAD END** _

As Harry left Hogwarts that evening, he began to hatch a plan. He headed immediately to the Ministry, intent on their records department. He also wanted to check in with the Runes and Symbols department, but that would have to wait until Monday when they were back in office.

Showing his identification that allowed him to be in the Ministry after hours to the night security wizard, Harry took the lift down to Records, which was on the same floor as the Central Department, nearer to the ground floor. The lift opened to the floor and as he walked down the corridor, he thought about how empty the Ministry looked after hours. It almost had a ghost-town quality, though he knew there must be someone working late somewhere nearby.

As he walked into Records, he saw that there was only one witch on duty. "Drew the short straw with shifts, eh?" he asked her.

She sat up a bit straighter as she realized who she was, her blue eyes widening. "Er, yes, Mr. Potter. I've got the evening shift—but it's better than the night shift! How can I help you tonight?"

"I was wondering if there were any way I could look at some personnel files for the Magical Law Enforcement Department. It's for some Auror business."

She bit her lip and looked around. "That's, erm, generally against policy, sir. Do you have any notes from your supervisor for us to release those?"

"Head Auror Robards said he would be sending it along," Harry lied, only feeling the smallest bit guilty. "But if it hasn't gotten here yet, I can come back later! I'd hate to inconvenience you a second time."

"Oh, it's no inconvenience Mr. Potter," she assured. "If Head Auror Robards' note is en route, I can get those files pulled and wait until it arrives."

"Perfect. I just need the files for all of the liaisons between the Auror Department and the Magical Law Enforcement proper."

She smiled and nodded. "I'll be right back!"

"Thanks, er," he looked at her nametag for the first time. "Hazel. I need to step out for a few moments, but I'll be back, as well."

She nodded as she disappeared behind a door marked RECORDS DEPARTMENT EMPLOYEES ONLY. Harry left the office quickly, trying to think of a way to get Robards' authorization quickly.

He was sure that Robards would allow it, if he had enough evidence to support his suspicions, but Harry was mostly working on circumstantial evidence, which wasn't enough for a "warrant," so to speak.

It would be wrong to forge Robards' signature, he tried to tell himself. And they did have spells to ensure that a permission wasn't forged. _Feck_ , he thought. He had put himself in a tight spot, but he needed those files!

He couldn't very well lie his way out of this, he decided. He'd have to try his luck with Robards. There was no telling how pissed off he would be.

Harry hurried to the nearest fireplace and grabbed a handful of floo powder, giving his password when prompted. He announced Robards' address and knelt down, sticking his head into the green flames. He coughed slightly as he found himself in Robards' grate, looking at the homey kitchen. Harry knew that any decorative elements were courtesy of Robards' wife, Myra.

"Hello?" he called out, hoping to announce his presence, and get the call over with. He hated the idea of his bottom half being vulnerable, out there in the open for anyone present at the Ministry to see or interfere with. It hadn't ever happened to him yet, but Harry sometimes feared it was inevitable when he used the floo to call.

He heard footsteps approaching and did his best to look contrite.

It wasn't Robards anyway, but Myra. "Hello, Harry," she greeted. "Do you need Gawain?"

"If you could get him, I'd really appreciate it, Myra. I'm so sorry to interrupt your evening."

She smiled, though Harry could have sworn he did see one of her eyes twitch in annoyance. "I'll get him," she said.

She disappeared from the kitchen, leaving Harry to stare about some more and make observations about Robards' home life. He couldn't smell anything, as he only had the smell of floo powder in his nose from the call, but he could see something simmering on the stove. There were attractive autumn decorations hung in various places, pumpkins and squashes set in the middle of the island in the middle of the kitchen.

He heard Robards approaching and pulled his contrite face again.

"What do you need, Potter?" Robards asked by way of greeting.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm working on that art theft case, and I have some suspicions, but to be able to investigate further, I need access to the Ministry personnel files."

"You know we need authorization from the Magical Law Enforcement liaison for those, usually," Robards told him.

"That's the thing, sir," Harry told him. "This may sound crazy, but my main suspect is Hermione Granger."

"Granger?" Robards asked in disbelief.

"That's where the evidence seems to be pointing me, sir. I wanted to do a stakeout of her residence to watch for any unusual activity."

"Usually, Potter, I would require more evidence for this sort of thing," Robards chastised as he grabbed a quill, inkpot, and some parchment from nearby. "But if this is how you want to spend your Friday night, feel free."

Robards signed off with a flourish, and Harry opened his mouth for him to put the note in. Once it was secured between his teeth, and definitely not getting _too_ wet inside of his mouth, Harry nodded his thanks and pulled his head out of the floo.

As soon as he was back in the Ministry completely, Harry pulled the bit of parchment from between his teeth and read. _I, Gawain Robards, Head Auror, give Harry Potter permission to access Ministry of Magic personnel files for official purposes._ Straight to the point, Harry thought.

Smiling in triumph, and glad he took the risk of bothering the boss, he walked back into the Records office, finding the witch that he'd been working with waiting on him.

"I'm sorry," he apologized to her. "I flooed Auror Robards and he said he'd forgotten the note, but I have it here."

She took it by a corner, making a face at the slight wetness and teeth indentations into the parchment. "Looks official," she shrugged. "Here are those files, and here is the form verifying that you are checking the files into your custody."

He grabbed a nearby quill and dipped it into the ink, wiping any excess off onto the lip of the ink bottle. He signed his name and the date, grabbing the files.

"Thanks, so much for your help, Hazel," he said. He supposed he could be charming when he needed to be, but it was usually only for work purposes.

"Have a good night, Auror Potter!" she called as he disappeared out the door.

He went back to his flat to look over Hermione's file. He hated to think it was her and felt like he was violating her privacy. He knew he wouldn't feel the same way if it were some random witch or wizard that was his lead suspect. He needed to treat Hermione like any other suspect, rather than someone with whom he'd had a budding friendship.

First listed was her application for employment, and her NEWT and OWL scores. Impressive, but not surprising. Next listed were her references and the background check. Those were more important than test scores, Harry thought. She had an impressive reference from Headmistress McGonagall, a glowing reference from Professor Tofty, and a character reference from Cedric Diggory, who had been Head Boy the first year that she had been Prefect.

If he remembered right, Diggory had gone on to work Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He knew that Diggory often teamed up with Hermione for work with her S.P.E.W. organization, and Harry filed a thought for himself to speak with Diggory on Monday about that.

The background check came back clean, besides some remarks about behaviour during the war, which Harry thought barely counted, as everyone had just been fighting to survive. Especially Hermione, who had been on the run from the Muggle-Born Registration Commission.

He found where it listed her current place of residence and her floo calling handle, memorizing the address.

Her home was in Cambridge and would be easy to locate in such a town. He looked at the clock, deciding to start his tail on her today. He grabbed his Auror-grade Omnioculars and his invisibility cloak and headed to the Apparition point.

Harry found himself at Cambridge's less-used Apparition point and noted that he had a way to walk before he got to Hermione's home. When he found it, he couldn't say he was surprised in the least.

It was a classy-looking terrace house, located near the university. He should have guessed, though he wasn't sure how she'd pay the rent on that sort of thing on an entry-level salary.

Looking around, Harry brandished his invisibility cloak and pulled it over himself, sitting on a neighbour's stoop across the road. Tuning his Omnioculars to the correct magnification, he pointed them at the front window first.

Harry could see as if he was standing right at the window, looking into the home. He was able to see most of the front room and into a bit of the kitchen.

The home was meticulously decorated and clean, and there were quite a few bookshelves in his view. What wasn't in his view, however, was Hermione Granger.

He pointed the Omnioculars at another window, which turned out to be a hallway upstairs. More bookshelves. Another window, a little to his right, had more bookshelves, and finally, Hermione. She wasn't alone, either, Harry discovered.

The two seemed to be talking on a bed, and Hermione's hair was mussed and even bushier than normal. Harry examined the man in the room with Hermione, realizing as he looked closer that the man was Ronald Weasley.

 _Who would have guessed?_ Harry thought. He continued to watch their interaction, partially out of curiosity and partially out of obligation.

Their talking seemed to be slowing, and they were leaning toward each other, Ron's hand tangling itself into one of her dark, curly tendrils of hair. There was a tender look on his face that Harry couldn't say he'd ever seen him wear before. Hermione and Ron's lips met, and Harry felt mildly uncomfortable as the kiss became more heated.

He hadn't intended to feel like a Peeping Tom. As Hermione's blouse was lifted off her body, Harry put his Omnioculars down. He couldn't watch that. It was too intimate. And, he thought how Ginny would cringe if she were to find out that he'd been watching her brother get it in.

Harry wasn't sure what to do to occupy his time for the next five to fifteen minutes. He nervously twiddled his thumbs and looked up and down the street. He could come back in the morning, he thought. Maybe he'd just tail Hermione instead of peeping into her bedroom creepily.

He could use the sleep, he reasoned with himself. It was going on half-twelve now. He picked up the Omnioculars one more time and checked the bedroom to make sure he wasn't missing anything important. Ron was on top of Hermione, and—yikes!

He put them down again quickly, giving up for the night. He did not need to see any of that, and he wished ardently that he could erase the images from his brain.

Harry made it home to his flat and plopped down on his bed, bouncing a little with the impact his body had on the mattress. He wished that he could have Ginny by his side—not just for sex, though the sex had been bloody fantastic. She had made him laugh in those few hours in a way that no one ever had.

Merlin, what had he done wrong? What had made her turn so cold so quickly?

He imagined the way her hair had looked in his bed, all splayed out against his pillows, her creamy skin against his sheets, the way it all felt under his hands. He felt himself hardening at the thought, and began to remember how she'd felt around him, tight and warm, and oh-so wet. The way it had felt as she'd moved up and down on his cock.

He grasped himself in his hand, feeling dirty and excited all at once. He grabbed some lotion from a bedside drawer and rubbed it over himself, imagining it was Ginny's wetness. He moaned quietly, keeping his neighbours in mind as he tugged up and down, picturing the way her breasts, freckled and beautiful, would look as she bounced on top of him.

He could imagine her breathy moans as her clit rubbed against his pelvis, the way she would tighten even more around him, and how she would feel as she finally came undone, fluttering around him, legs trembling around his hips, breaths coming out in gasps.

With a grunt, he spilled out onto himself in relief. After the waves of pleasure were over, he only felt empty and disgusting.

Why did he have to masturbate to the thought of her? Hadn't the one time been enough for him? Obviously not. Harry wasn't sure he could go back to anything else after experiencing the gloriousness that was Ginny Weasley.

He rolled out of bed petulantly, desperately needing a shower. As he headed to the loo, he tried to put all thoughts of Ginny out of his head. It proved difficult, as he couldn't stop thinking. about what went wrong. Had it been something he'd said? Was it that he hadn't been verbal enough? Or was it the cheese he'd added to the beans on toast?

 _Don't be silly, Potter,_ he told himself. _It definitely wasn't the cheese. That cheese is fucking delicious._

He turned the tap as hot as he could stand and stood under the water, feeling it pelt his skin. He rinsed his cum off himself and then massaged shampoo into his hair, feeling as if he were trying to shampoo a mop. He massaged his scalp, feeling that it was the type of relaxation he needed after the week he'd had.

He continued to think about Ginny, a mixture of racy and confused thoughts chasing each other about in his mind. Maybe he should stop by the Leaky Cauldron and try to talk to her.

But what if she didn't want to talk to him? Would it be right for him to force his company on her? She hadn't made any attempt to reach out to him since the night before. Maybe she was waiting on him to do so. It had only been a day, after all.

He determined that he might stop by the Leaky and speak to her, maybe ask her on a proper date. Maybe that would help clear up any doubts she may have had about his intentions. He'd do it after he finished trailing Hermione the next day, Harry decided.

No more second-guessing it.

He turned to the tap off and dried himself, plopping back into his bed, naked as the day he'd been born.

The next morning found Harry back outside Hermione's terrace-house in Cambridge, covered by his invisibility cloak. He checked the kitchen first again, praying that there would be no more nakedness for him to witness. Luckily, both Hermione and another witch—a roommate, Harry guessed—were both fully dressed, sitting at the table with cups of steaming tea. Hermione was reading a book, and the other witch was reading the morning edition of _The Daily Prophet._

Harry zoomed in on the book in Hermione's hands. _An Unabridged History of Elvish Relations with Wizardkind_ by someone named Elias Hardgrave. She seemed completely engaged in it, though Harry didn't think he could say he had ever seen her reading without the force of the whole of her attention.

Neither of the witches said a thing as they finished their morning tea and did their reading. The other witch, who Harry recognized once she had pulled the _Prophet_ away from her face as Mandy Brocklehurst, who worked in the Department of Magical Transportation, rose from her seat and poured herself another cup.

Harry couldn't quite read her lips, but he made sure his Omnioculars were recording, and continued to watch. Hermione bookmarked her place on the page and closed the book, replying to her (probable) roommate.

She placed her teacup in the sink and grabbed her purse from the chair behind her. _Well, I'm off,_ he watched Hermione tell Mandy. Mandy nodded as she took a deep sip and waved distractedly.

Harry watched as Hermione made her way to the door and he readied himself to follow her. The front door opened, and she stepped out, perfectly put together and professional-looking, even on the weekend.

Hermione's hair was pulled into a large bun atop her head and she carried a large bag that hung across her body. It looked like it could carry a large number of books, and Harry guessed that it probably held even more than it looked like. He knew she liked to charm her bags to hold as much as she needed.

She walked towards the train station, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure what he'd have done if she had Apparated away. He boarded the train with her to London, squeezing into the door of the train right as it began to close.

She had a book out again, he noted, grabbing a camera and taking a photo through the invisibility cloak. Luckily, the train's rumbling was too loud for anyone around to notice the sound of the shutter clicking as he took the photo.

She didn't interact with anyone on the train, and Harry found himself bored once again. Forty minutes later, they were at King's Cross station, from where she hailed a cab. He needed to discard the invisibility cloak to follow from here.

As he got into his own cab, he told the driver, "Follow that car!" The driver nodded at him without questioning him. He supposed he ought to tip the driver a nice amount when he got out. He counted the Muggle money he had on his person, realizing it wouldn't be enough for the fare and the tip. A galleon it was, he decided.

They pulled up to the Leaky Cauldron, and Harry was relieved to be able to follow on foot again. "I'd like to wait just a moment here, before I get out, if you wouldn't mind," he told the driver.

"You've got it, sir," the driver agreed in a thick northern accent, and if Harry had to guess, he'd have said he was from Manchester.

They watched Hermione climb out of her cab and walk into the pub. As she disappeared inside and the other cab pulled back onto the street, Harry handed him his money. "Thanks, mate," he told him.

The driver just nodded again and drove away as soon as Harry had closed the door. He waited until he was out of sight before he pulled his invisibility cloak back on.

Walking into the Leaky Cauldron, Harry immediately looked for any trace of Hermione. He found her at a booth with Cedric Diggory. _How interesting,_ Harry thought, reminded of how he needed to question Diggory on Monday. He sat down at the next table over and began to listen to their conversation.

"I've been reading about how the house-elves were initially enslaved," Hermione was telling Diggory. "It's simply barbaric! And that we allow slavery to continue isn't just an injustice—it's archaic. The United Kingdom banned slavery over one-hundred and fifty years ago!"

Cedric nodded. "I know, and I completely agree. Our work is making a difference, you know. Liberating more elves and raising awareness about fair-trade. Unfortunately, the older families, and bigger institutions, like Hogwarts, the Ministry of Magic, and Gringotts, don't feel they have enough money to pay the elves for their work."

"How could they not?" Hermione's voice raised in pitch, her cheeks darkening dangerously. "How much do each of those institutions rake in a year?"

Harry knew their conversation was important but still found himself growing bored. Still, he continued to listen as Diggory explained the politics behind it, and the cost of running places like Hogwarts without the free labour from the house-elves. Neither Hermione nor Diggory made any mention of paintings, or money, but Harry did try to remember the numbers the two were throwing about, and how much it would take for them. He'd run the numbers against the value of the paintings at the Ministry on Monday, he promised himself.

Harry was making quite a to-do list for himself, he discovered. He'd have to write it all down before he forgot. _Well, shite_ , he thought, briefly distracted. _What_ was _it that I have to do on Monday? Bloody hell. Pay attention Potter!_ Harry sometimes wondered if he had that thing Muggles called Attention Deficit… something, but decided it wasn't important as he continued listening to Hermione and Diggory's conversation.

Their conversation never ventured towards the art theft as they ate their lunch, and Harry noticed vaguely that he hadn't seen Ginny around the pub. They said their goodbyes and Harry wished he'd had time for a butterbeer, at least. Oh well—justice waited for no one.

He followed Hermione out of the pub and into Diagon Alley, rolling his eyes as she entered Flourish and Blotts. Maybe this was a waste of time, he considered. Nothing nefarious seemed to be going on in Hermione Granger's life—unless he counted her unnatural attraction to Ron Weasley.

He followed her into the bookshop, anyway, seeing if there was anyone she met or spoke to. But she only perused the shelves, eyes lighting up in excitement at nearly every shelf, and then shaking her head and putting several books back on the shelves. She only ended up leaving with four, which Harry thought must have been an extreme show of self-restraint.

She did have a conversation with the man who helped check her out, but it was the usual scripted interaction between salespeople and customers at the till. He watched as shrank her purchases down and placed them in her bag before leaving.

Following her out the door, he watched as she went about a small shopping trip in the alley. She stopped at Madame Malkin's, Gringotts, and Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. He hadn't thought he'd ever see Hermione Granger in this shop, but as he followed her into the shop, he watched her study the products on shelves as if she were taking notes. Then, she found Ron Weasley behind the counter and Harry remembered their interaction last night.

"Anything I can help you find?" he asked, a smile lighting up his face.

"I actually wanted to ask about whether some of your products could be a little more fine-tuned for Ministry of Magic use," she told Ron.

"I'd have to talk to George, of course, as he's the real brains behind the operation. But I'm sure we could all work something out, Miss Granger," he pulled her face gently towards his own, bringing her lips to his for a tender kiss. Ah, so it wasn't just some weird tryst he had witnessed the night before, either. They were in a real relationship.

"Just a second, Ron," Hermione told him sweetly. He nodded, looking a little dazed.

She pulled away from him and began to walk towards Harry. Surely, she couldn't see him.

Her hands reached out, grasping at the air until she felt the cool material of the invisibility cloak. She tugged it in her grasp, pulling it off from Harry.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. He looked at Ron, who looked confused and a little annoyed.

With surprising strength, she pushed Harry into the shelf behind them. "Why are you following me?"

"Would you believe me if I told you that you're a suspect?" he asked, giving it up.

"What the fuck?" he heard Ron swear.

"What are you on about?" Hermione asked him.

"Well, I was putting some dots together. Do you have an alibi for the night that the Raysse painting was stolen?"

"Yes, I was with Ron!"

Harry looked back and forth between them, and Ron asked, "What night was that?"

"Erm, Sunday night."

Ron looked like he was thinking back. "Yeah, Hermione and I were together that night. We went out to dinner, one of those Muggle movies at the Cinema that she likes, and then we went back to her place."

Harry sagged in relief. "Oh, thank Merlin. I really didn't want it to be you, Hermione."

"Why would I have stolen a painting?" she asked in disbelief.

"I wondered that too, until I remembered your work with S.P.E.W.," Harry said. "I know those types of organizations need a lot of money to be able to work."

"Not that it's any of your business, but S.P.E.W. is doing quite well financially," she told him primly. "We've gotten loads of donations in the last few years."

"I was also thinking about that spell you used at the crime scene," he told them. "And how a thief would need extra time to be able to carve that rune into the floor."

Hermione looked around furtively, while Ron asked, "What spell?"

"I told you not to ask about it," she said.

"Well, when it comes up in a criminal investigation…" Harry told her. "If it hadn't been seemingly relevant, I wouldn't have said anything."

"What spell?" Ron asked again, louder this time.

Hermione groaned.

"Your girlfriend told Neville Longbottom and I that she had nicked a spell from the Department of Mysteries," Harry said.

"Which is precisely the reason I don't want everyone on earth knowing about it," she said through gritted teeth.

"What were you doing in the Department of Mysteries?" Ron asked, confused.

She looked back and forth between Ron and Harry, as if calculating the risks of revealing the truth. "I was working as a liaison with them at the time," she finally told them. "It was a top-secret partnership between the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department of Mysteries, obviously. Neither party wanted the public, or even the rest of the Ministry, to know that they were working together on something."

"What could they possibly have to work on together?" Ron asked.

"That's classified information," Hermione told them wryly. "But while I was down there, I witnessed an Unspeakable doing that spell, and taught it to myself."

Harry shook his head in amazement. Fucking weird government things, of course, being the answer to his suspicions. This all left him without a lead suspect, however. And another question.

"What about the brown hair at the scene that you didn't tell Longbottom and I?"

She sighed. "I honestly just didn't think it would be relevant. Anyone can charm their hair to be a different colour, and it wasn't as if we would have any DNA testing technology to test who it belonged to."

Harry nodded. "Well, I'm glad you aren't the thief, Hermione, but now I'm back to square one."

"Well, apparently, I had unknowingly been acting suspiciously enough to garner your attention. Still, you need to brush up on your surveillance skills," she told him, laughing. "I shouldn't be able to notice you following me."

"What gave it away?" he asked.

"It was the sound of footsteps following me in every shop, and the occasional swishing of your invisibility cloak. By the way," she said, rustling the cloak between her fingers. "This is definitely not department issue. Where'd you get it?"

"It's a family heirloom," Harry said. "It was my dad's before he died."

Hermione looked like she might say something, and then closed her mouth abruptly.

"What?" he asked.

"Well, invisibility cloaks don't usually stay magicked long enough for them to become family heirlooms," she explained. "Demiguise hair fades as their lives do."

"Oh, er…" Harry couldn't exactly tell her about his role as the supposed Master of Death. "Classified?" he said, his statement sounding more like a question.

Hermione looked like she wanted to ask a question but was interrupted by the sound of the welcome bell over the shop door.

Harry looked in the direction of the shop door as he hastily stuffed his invisibility cloak into the pocket of his robes.

"Ron," the feminine voice called. Harry knew that voice, he thought as the voice continued. "Are you hiring?"

Ginny appeared from behind the shelf of Wonder Witch products, her height having hidden her.

She was beautiful, Harry thought as he drank her appearance in.

She was wearing a red sweater, denim trousers, and a pair of black boots. Ginny's hair hung down around her face and neck, lustrous, coppery, and so thick Harry wanted to get lost in it. Even though he thought she was beautiful, Harry also noticed that she looked wan. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her skin seemed paler than the last time he'd seen her… then again, the last time Harry had seen her, Ginny's skin had been rosy and flushed, eating beans on toast in his bed and completely naked.

"Oh, hello," Ginny's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I didn't know you had customers. Sorry, I can wait until you're done."

"Ginny, are you alright?" Ron asked, and Hermione moved closer to examine her.

"You look ill," Hermione observed. "Do you feel alright?"

"I'm fine," Ginny waved them off. "I just had strange dreams last night, is all." She looked as if she were reliving the images inside her mind.

"I've got some Lady Grey in the back, if you'd like," Ron told his younger sister, concern written all over his features.

"You know I can't turn that down," Ginny grinned tiredly. "Could I get some extra cream and honey?"

Ron nodded, leading them all up the stairs and to what was apparently an overhead flat. "This is mine," Ron told Harry. "Fred and George lived here when they first opened the shop, but after Fred… well, George found another place to live."

"A real swanky place, too," Ginny interjected. She wouldn't quite look at Harry.

Ron nodded again. "So, he said if I helped run the day-to-day at the shop, he'd let me live here rent-free."

"Sounds like a good deal," Harry said.

Ron grinned. "It's nice not living in my tiny attic bedroom."

"It helps that this place isn't Chudley Cannons orange," Ginny said. "His room at the Burrow is god-awful, uglier than a garden gnome."

"Why, you—" Ron mussed her hair, creating static and causing her hair to stand up a bit.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ginny told Ron. "That's an insult to the garden gnomes."

"Fuck you," Ron muttered. "See if I make your tea."

Ginny smiled and the way it made her face look did funny things to Harry's chest. She flipped Ron off, smiling as she plopped herself down on the sofa. "Ouch!" she frowned. "There's a spring in my bum."

"Sounds like a personal problem," Ron replied.

Around the two siblings' line of sight, Hermione met Harry's gaze and rolled her eyes, smiling as she said in explanation, "Weasleys."


	9. Chapter 8: hangover

_**CHAPTER EIGHT: HANGOVER** _

Ginny rolled over groggily, trying to remember the night before. She had thought she wouldn't wake up in her own bed, for some reason, but this felt like her bed. Testing its size, she poked her leg out from under the blanket and waited to feel the bed drop off. It ended exactly where a twin-sized bed would end, she thought. Opening her eyes caused a sharp shooting pain inside her head, and hastily she closed them.

What the hell had she gotten up to last night?

Had she drank too much potion? She thought she remembered being out of potion. Didn't she need to go to Doru's manor?

The thought triggered a hazy memory, something she only half-remembered. Was it a dream? The wispiness of the memory was slipping through her grip like the details of a dream. She remembered running through corridors in an old-fashioned dress… that had to be a dream, right?

And finding Doru, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. The struggle between them, how his teeth had clamped onto the junction between her neck and her shoulder. That couldn't have happened.

Nevertheless, Ginny's hand made its way to the place where she could now vividly remember feeling his teeth sink into her skin; she could remember the way the pain had sung through her. There was nothing on her neck. There were no blemishes to be found—no bites, no scabs, no bruises. Just a strange ache that made her wonder if it was an after-effect of having such a vivid nightmare.

It had to have been a nightmare, Ginny decided. There was no other explanation.

Ginny, painfully, rolled out of bed and glanced at the calendar she kept, as if she couldn't help herself. She had the day marked as 16 October 2004. Saturday. But she had gone to bed on Thursday night, she had thought.

What had happened to Friday?

Everything within her went silent and still for a moment. _No, no no nononono._ It couldn't be happening again. Ginny shook herself, pinching her skin hard. It couldn't be. The last time she had lost so much time, large blocks, even days, was when she had been eleven. And possessed by Tom Riddle. _Tom is dead,_ Ginny reasoned with herself. Most likely, she had fallen too deeply down the rabbit hole with the potions she'd been taking.

Ginny felt disgusted with herself. How had she become this person, dependent on something she shouldn't need anymore? How had she allowed herself to become so wrapped up in it that she had allowed herself to lose an entire day? Tears welled up in Ginny's eyes, and she bit her lower lip, willing herself not to cry.

She couldn't even remember the last time she had let herself cry. Before her Quidditch accident, she was sure. Maybe even long before that. Thinking of everything that she had lived through, all that she had survived truly became real, and as she relived those things in the span of a few seconds, it was as if a dam were bursting.

It overflowed, tears streaming down her cheeks, the taste of salt on her tongue. Ginny bawled like a baby, sobbing for all that she had lost, and become, and lost again.

And who was she without a war within her? She wondered, sobs still ripping through her throat as she tried to regain control of herself. Everything she had always done had been for the sake of good, for the sake of safety, but who was she without that steel core? Who was she without something to fight for?

What could she fight for?

Ginny's cries slowed finally, and her breaths came out in rough gasps and hiccups as she recovered. She breathed a deep breath, urging herself to regain control of herself—if she had ever had it in the first place.

The tears began to dry on her cheeks, the skin on her face stiff as she wouldn't wipe them away. She felt raw, new, like any new thought could tear her apart again. Was this what it was like to be alive? Always dying and becoming and mourning what once was?

She wouldn't take that potion again, she decided more firmly than ever before. Even as she thought it, her back was aching. _Ignore it,_ Ginny told herself.

Ginny wondered if she should at least finish the painting for Doru but decided that it would be too much of a temptation to come back for more. _Fuck that painting,_ she thought. _And fuck Doru and Morana._

She was done with that life. And she was done settling for less than her dreams, too.

How long had she said she was saving up to become a curse-breaker and get her training? Ever since she'd had her Quidditch accident. She thought back to it, wondering how the time had gone by so quickly and so slowly at the same time—it had been four years since then. For four years, Ginny had been living her life in a limbo: between two dreams, between waiting and real life, between sleeping and awake. She had allowed the potions to numb her for too long, and they had kept her complacent.

 _No more_ , she told herself firmly.

She didn't even know how much money she had in her Gringotts account, so she resolved to stop by the bank before finding a new job. If only there was a way to check their accounts from anywhere at all, she thought.

She disrobed her grungy-looking clothes and put on a set of clean robes, painstakingly did all her hygiene charms, and continued to ignore the pain that seemed to be growing within her. It was all in her imagination. Probably.

She wanted to take her flying motorcycle, but there would be no place to park it in Diagon Alley, so she walked to the Apparition point instead, reappearing in Diagon Alley.

The alley wasn't as busy as it normally would be on Saturday mornings, she observed. Maybe it was the chill in the air, marking that winter was on its way. Some shopkeepers were putting Halloween decorations up, and it filled Ginny with both a sense of joy and dread.

As a child she had loved Halloween—the bats, the jack-o-lanterns charmed into funny faces, and the excuse to eat an ungodly amount of chocolate had made it a favorite of hers (second only to Christmas). But as she had grown older, bad things always seemed to happen on Halloween.

Hopefully, with Tom's death, that curse (like the one on the defence post at Hogwarts) had been broken.

Still, she was determined to make her own luck in the world.

As Ginny walked into Gringotts, she got the uncomfortable impression that she was being watched even more than usual. She felt the weight of eyes on her, following her as she went up to one of the goblins working the telling counter.

"I'd like to check the balance of my account, please," she told him.

"Name?" He asked.

"Ginevra Weasley."

He looked up, eyes raking over her. "Hmm, so you are. If you wouldn't mind taking a seat, I'll have Raidgold conduct a count." She wasn't sure if she was being paranoid, but she felt like his eyes were lingering on her neck.

 _It was just a dream,_ Ginny told herself again.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness that was enveloping her.

It was only another few minutes before Ginny saw another goblin come up and speak to the teller, and she assumed that he must be Raidgold.

The teller goblin wrote something down and nodded to Raidgold before the second goblin left to wherever he'd come from.

"Your balance is ready, Miss Weasley."

Ginny stood up, feeling slightly lightheaded as she did so, and walked to the counter. The goblin handed her the sheet of parchment discreetly, and as her eyes took in the number, her heart fell. It wasn't even enough to cover rent this month for her flat.

And now she had no job, no money coming in. No way to pay her bills. How would she ever get into curse-breaking school?

"Anything I can help with?" The goblin asked.

Ginny bit her lip and looked at him. "Unless you've got a way for me to go to curse-breaking school for free, I don't think so."

He nodded in thought. "Gringotts has a program that will pay for that schooling, as long as you give a portion of your earnings back to us once you've finished and signed on at the bank as a curse-breaker."

"Really?" She asked, wondering how she'd never heard of this, and why Bill had never told her about it when she'd mentioned she'd been saving up for training. "What's the catch?"

"We charge interest, of course," he grinned.

Ginny, who had been living away from home for several years now, but had barely any loan experience, only slightly understood the term. "Interest?"

"The amount owed grows by a certain percentage the longer it takes for you to pay us back," he explained.

"Is there someone I could talk to about that type of funding?"

The goblin grinned toothily and nodded, motioning for her to follow him.

He led her to the part of Gringotts that she'd only been in to visit Bill. It seemed it was mostly wizards and witches and working in this part of the bank, doing clerical work. The goblin—who she learned was named Wrenrock, from greetings thrown his way—led her to a cubicle with a sharply dressed witch at the mahogany desk. "Miss Walker, this is Miss Ginevra Weasley," Wrenrock introduced. "She'd like some more information on financing for curse-breaker training courses."

Laurel smiled and nodded. "I can certainly help you with that Miss Weasley. Why don't you have a seat, and we'll go over your goals and financial history."

Ginny took a seat and Wrenrock promptly disappeared. She and Miss Walker, whose first name was Laurel, according to the name placard on her desk, began to discuss the logistics of the type of loan that Ginny would need to go to school.

She left the bank an hour later feeling dazed but accomplished. It was the most progress she'd made towards any dreams or goals since she'd made starter for the Holyhead Harpies.

She still needed a job, however, if she wanted to keep a roof over her head. She stopped and got herself a small tea from Serenitea, the tea shop that had been opened the year before by Lavender Brown.

Serenitea was a cute, small place that vaguely reminded Ginny of the Divination classroom at Hogwarts—with more a modern, fashionable touch. Lavender even offered tea leaf readings every Tuesday morning, and every other Sunday afternoon. Ginny had gone once but hadn't participated. She had been in quite a strop about the loss of her career on the professional Quidditch circuit and hadn't cared to know "what the leaves would reveal of her fate."

She sat on the outdoor patio at a small, two-top table and watched the wizards and witches that passed by. The alley was getting busier as the day warmed, and an air of joviality seemed to overtake everyone as they went about their shopping.

Ginny finished her tea and made her way to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, hoping to rely on nepotism for a paycheck.

As she stepped over through the threshold, the bell overhead rang, announcing her arrival. "Ron! Are you hiring?" she called out.

She found that Ron wasn't alone. Hermione Granger was with him, as was Harry. The last person she wanted to see right now after the way she'd left his flat the other night. She'd placed him in the "Forbidden" box that she and Luna had come up with back at Hogwarts—a box that included friends' crushes, ex-boyfriends (or ex-girlfriends!), and people that it would just be wrong to shag or date (like professors, or bosses, and the like).

And, of course, here he was. Harry fucking Potter.

She avoided making eye contact with him as she talked to her brother, and even as Ron made her tea in his upstairs flat.

Bantering back and forth with Ron, she sat down on his manky sofa while flipping Ron off, and immediately regretted it. "Ouch, there's a spring in my bum."

"Sounds like a personal problem," Ron told her.

She flipped him off again, rubbing her bum.

She accidentally caught Harry's eye as she did so, body filling with heat from her core and out. She licked her lips, and if she didn't know better, she could have sworn that Harry's eyes had darkened from across the room.

She averted her eyes quickly as she tried to change the subject. "So, what are you lot doing here?"

"Well, Harry here was following me, thinking I'd committed the crime in the case we're on," Hermione looked at Harry pointedly.

"I'm sorry," Harry sounded exasperated as he apologized for, what Ginny guessed, not the first time. "All the clues seemed to point to you. I can't help that you were acting suspiciously."

"Did he just come out and tell you he was following you?" Ginny asked Hermione curiously, despite herself.

Harry rolled his eyes mutinously and Hermione laughed. "No, but he was being louder than normal. I don't think he's used to suspects knowing what an invisibility cloak sounds like. I've just worked with the Auror's so many times, I know they're standard issue."

"What case is this, anyway?" Ron asked.

"That art theft case I was telling you about," Hermione answered.

"You told Ron about it?" Harry asked incredulously. "We're not supposed to discuss open cases."

Hermione looked flustered as she smoothed out her blouse. "Well, erm, it was a moment of weakness. I didn't mean to tell him about it."

Harry rolled his eyes at her.

Ginny fought the urge to grin but couldn't resist as soon as she saw Harry's own. Her heart palpitated in her chest at the sight. She bit her lip, envisioning her mouth on his neck…

She shook herself of the image, confused but aroused, nonetheless.

As she cleared away her strange, lusty thoughts something else about the conversation struck her. Art thefts?

None of them were looking at her any differently than before, and they didn't look like they suspected anything. A sense of shame filled her—she had resorted to stealing to feed her potion problem. She had never thought through the full implications of it—she had been stealing from the rich, and not for herself. _No, you stole for someone who calls himself Master,_ a nasty voice inside of Ginny's head reminded her. _In return for his poisons._

She thought she'd felt shame before, but in that small span of a few seconds, Ginny thought with a clear head of everything she had done, and for who. It had been for a dangerous man who controlled those around him. He'd exerted his control over her, too. Supplying her with a steady amount of her favourite vice, asking small payment for such a big favour. But it had all escalated. And Ginny had found herself numb, not only physically, but also emotionally and morally.

She had sworn to herself that she would never allow herself to be controlled again, and she had broken that promise to herself. Her stomach roiled at the thought, and for a moment, she wondered if she might be sick right there on Ron's manky couch. Ginny managed to push the sensation down and focus back on the conversation flowing around her.

"How's the tea, Ginny?" Ron asked. She'd tuned back in just in time, it seemed.

"It's great, Ron," she told him. He looked taken aback and she couldn't tell why. "Thanks for making it."

"No problem. Do you want anymore? Looks like you're about out."

Since when was Ron a good host?

As she looked between Ron and Hermione, she realized for the first time that his hand was placed lovingly on her shoulder. Was her youngest brother… seeing someone? And it was Hermione Granger? He was looking at her in a way she had only ever seen him look at food—and only his absolute favourite foods, at that.

"You know, I think that was enough for me. Thank you, though, Ron."

She got up from the couch, ignoring the pain in her back, and now her bum as well from that loose spring.

Harry got up from his position at the small table as well and said, "I think I'll get out of your hair. Thanks for clearing that all up, Hermione."

Hermione sniffed, but smiled. "I'll see you on Monday."

He nodded at her silently and joined Ginny as she walked down the stairs and through the shop.

"You alright?" Harry asked her. "I haven't had a chance to get in touch with you since..."

"Yeah, I've been good," she lied. No point in telling him about the potions, or the strange dream about Doru. She felt guilty for omitting it all, but he _was_ an Auror. And, apparently, he was on the case for _her_ crime.

 _Fuck, Ginny,_ she thought to herself. _What in the bloody hell have you gotten yourself into?_

Harry stopped in the street of Diagon Alley suddenly, so Ginny stopped with him. He looked as if he was talking himself into something, she thought.

"I'd like to take you on a date sometime, if you would be willing," he said.

"A date?" Ginny asked, unable to articulate the strange mixture of feelings within her.

"Erm, if you don't want to, we don't have to," he backtracked.

"No, no, I think it would be great!" She said, before she could think through the consequences of her words.

He smiled, and Ginny put her worries out of her mind. "Great. Would tonight work?"

That was rather soon… but it wasn't as if Ginny had any plans.

"What would we do?" she asked.

"We could go to dinner—a proper one! —and then we could go to a pumpkin patch and pick out pumpkins and carve them."

She had never been to a pumpkin patch but had heard about them. When they were kids, her mum had always grown a little patch in their garden and had brought them in when they were ripe.

She smiled despite herself. "That sounds like a great idea. What time should we meet?"

"I could pick you up at yours at five."

"Five sounds perfect!" Ginny gave him her coordinates and flat number and couldn't seem to control herself as she leaned up and kissed his cheek.

As she passed by his neck, she could have sworn she heard the rhythmic flow of something liquid. _You're imagining things_ , she told herself.

She waved goodbye cheerily as she apparated away from back entrance of the Leaky Cauldron (she was too embarrassed to show her face inside quite yet). She looked at the clock in her flat, noting that she had a few hours to get ready.

Why had she agreed to a date with the auror on the case for something she had stolen? Was it truly a good idea? Should she cancel? Her worries plagued her, but as she pictured Harry in her mind, his kindness and goodness, as well as how he made her body feel, she decided she did not care.

Ginny got ready slowly, taking joy in making herself look good. She couldn't remember the last time she'd tried to look good for a man. It had to have been during her Harpy days, she thought.

She decided to wear nice underthings underneath her dress, smirking at herself in the mirror, already imagining Harry taking it off her body.

At five pm sharp, a knock sounded on her door and she opened it quickly to find Harry.

He was dressed in a nice button-down shirt and slacks, and Ginny knew from his lack of robes that she'd made a good choice in dressing like a Muggle.

"You look nice," he told her, smiling.

He held out a small bouquet of flowers to her, and her heart beat hard inside her chest. She had never been given flowers for a date. Only by her mum, crazed fans, or from an apologetic boyfriend. They were beautiful, too. Ginny hated roses, as she usually thought they were cliché, and the smell reminded her of old ladies. She wasn't sure what the bouquet was made up of, but it reminded Ginny of a beautiful sunset—there were reds and vibrant, dark orange flowers and pretty, dark green fern and eucalyptus (she thought).

"Why thank you," she smiled at him, taking the flowers from him. "Let me get a vase for these, and we can leave."

She got a vase from under the sink and grabbed her wand. " _Aguamenti_ ," she muttered as water spouted out of her wand's tip and into the vase. She set the flowers in and turned back towards Harry. "You look nice, too, by the way."

He moved in for a hug, and she let him wrap his arms around her, trying to calm down any anxiety or shyness. Listening to the beating of his heart calmed her own, and Ginny let out a deep, calming breath.

Harry pulled away. "Ready?" he asked.

She nodded and smiled.

He grabbed her hand and Ginny felt like a teenager again—giddy to have her hand in his. He led them down the stairs and out to the street.

"So where are we going for dinner?" she asked.

He smiled. "It's a Muggle place in London proper. I passed by it once while on an Auror mission, and I knew I had to try it. I hope you'll like it."

"Don't you know any Weasleys, Harry?" she asked. "We'll eat anything."

He laughed and held onto her elbow as he side-along Apparated them.

When they reappeared into the world and the sickening squeezing was finished, Ginny found herself in a part of London she'd never seen. Everywhere there were people milling about, laughing, and smiling. "I love seeing people at peace," she told Harry without thinking.

"Me too," he replied, green eyes peering into her brown ones. "It's my favourite part of going anywhere. Seeing everyone safe and happy."

"There were so many years where it wasn't like that at all," Ginny commented. "It's good to be able to relax."

Harry nodded, smiling softly. "Now, I know you said you'll eat anything, but I hope you like sushi."

"What's a sushi?"

Harry laughed, and Ginny wondered what she'd said that was so funny.

Looking at her confused face, he just laughed again, and Ginny decided she liked the sound of his laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Usually I try to spread my updates out a bit more, but with chapter seven and eight being more transition chapters, I thought I would update one more today! I know it's a bit more filler, but after this things will begin to pick up once again.


	10. Chapter 9: season of the witch

_**CHAPTER NINE: SEASON OF THE WITCH** _

Harry laughed hard. He couldn't help it—the way that Ginny had so earnestly asked, "What's a sushi?" had him in stitches.

"Sushi," he managed to explain between laughs, "is fish. Erm, it's raw fish actually," he told her, finally able to breathe again. "I know it sounds weird, but it's actually really good, I promise."

She looked more doubtful than ever, her lips teasing themselves and her eyes confused. She did look resolved though, he thought.

"You don't have to act like you're going to battle," he laughed again. Merlin, his sides hurt from laughing now.

"We'll see," Ginny smiled.

Harry held the door open for her as they entered the sushi restaurant, and when he produced the name for their table (Evans), they were taken immediately to the table he'd reserved.

Ginny's eyes looked wide and confused as she looked over the menu.

"We can get some sake or tea to drink if you want?" he suggested. "Have you ever tried sake?"

She shook her head.

"How do you feel about plums?"

"They're good," Ginny said. "Though I don't usually buy them at Tesco or anything."

"You might like it then. Do you want to try it?"

"Sure," she smiled. Harry felt momentarily hypnotized by her eyes but shook himself out of it.

When the waiter came by, he ordered their sake and a starter of calamari.

"What's calamari?" Ginny asked, concerned.

When Harry told her, her eyes widened further. "What's the matter?" he goaded. "I thought you said Weasleys will eat anything."

Her face turned red before she laughed. "I guess I didn't know this kind of food existed," Ginny admitted. "But I'll trust you this time. You'd better not let me down!"

"Oh, I won't," Harry told her sincerely, looking into her warm, amber eyes.

Ginny turned red again, and he wondered how many times he could make her flush, and how far exactly the flush traveled down her body.

Now, it was Harry's turn to blush, and Ginny raised an eyebrow at him enquiringly.

He shook his head, not brazen enough to share his thoughts. At least not yet.

Their sake arrived, and he watched as Ginny took a sip. She looked worried for a moment, but as the drink hit her tongue, her eyes lit up. "I like it!"

He grinned. "Good! Do you need any help making sense of the menu?"

As she looked down at it, she did look confused. "What do you usually get?"

"I like to get the rainbow rolls and the shrimp tempura rolls."

"Why don't you order a few different dishes, and we can both eat off of them?" Ginny suggested. "That way I can try all your favourites."

"Sure," Harry agreed.

The calamari arrived shortly after, and Harry ordered, something Ginny told him afterward that she normally wouldn't accept, but this was an exception. He made note, but he didn't think he would normally try to order for her anyway.

Harry watched as Ginny picked up a piece of calamari hesitantly, dipped it into the sauce, and bit off a small piece. He watched her chew cautiously, and the moment that she decided what she thought of it.

"I like it!" she grinned. "The way it's fried saves it."

"I tried to tell you!"

Throughout the meal, as they sat and talked and ate, Harry found himself liking Ginny even more. Beyond being gorgeous and funny (and fit), she was also incredibly smart. He thought, under all her bravado, there was a caring heart, too.

He avoided talking about the war as bringing up past trauma usually put a damper on a first date, but he also kept in mind the things he'd heard about how brave and selfless she had been. He was slowly getting a better picture of who Ginny was, and who she had been for years.

"So, what kept you from Hogwarts, if you don't mind my asking?" Ginny asked him, near the end of their meal.

He had just taken a giant bite of rainbow roll, so he finished his bite, chewing thoughtfully.

"Well," he said, right after swallowing. "My godfather, Sirius, managed to break out of Azkaban when I was around seven, living with my mum's relatives, and came and had me live with him. Of course, I didn't know at the time that he was a fugitive, but we spent years on the run from both the Ministry and the Muggle authorities, and going to Hogwarts would have required us to have an address on file."

She nodded. "Yeah, I suppose that would give your location away if you're trying to evade law enforcement."

Harry agreed. "On top of that, Sirius' then-boyfriend, Remus, was a werewolf and would have never been allowed to keep me in his household."

Ginny raised a single eyebrow. "A gay werewolf? Double-whammy."

"You're not wrong at all. You know how the wizarding world is, and the Ministry is even worse about it. Legislature is stuck in the goddamned Medieval era."

She laughed, and it sounded like it might have been a little bitter. "When I was just starting Hogwarts, my dad was working on a new piece of legislation, known as the Muggle Protection Act, that was very… erm, what's the word? Controversial, maybe? And there were a few in the Wizengamot that were not happy with what he'd put forward."

"Oh?" Harry asked. He'd heard of the Muggle Protection Act, and that it had been ahead of its time, but nothing else.

"Well, coincidentally, around the same time, a possession of Tom Riddle's found its way into my belongings on a trip to Diagon Alley right before my first year," she explained. "We were never able to prove it, but I _know_ with everything in me that it was Lucius Malfoy's revenge against dad."

Harry'd never found out who it was, but he had been told that a young girl had been possessed by one of Voldemort's Horcruxes and that it had led to the destruction of the vile thing. "That was you?" Harry asked, unable to help himself.

Ginny grimaced, and Harry immediately felt remorseful. "Sorry," he apologized lamely.

"It's okay," she shrugged. "It was me. I thought that the diary was a gift from my dad, a late birthday surprise or something, so I thought it was probably fine. I was wrong, obviously."

Harry found himself giving up any discretion. Ginny deserved to know the truth, and she had done for years. "It was a piece of his soul in that diary," he told her.

Ginny's eyes widened, but she didn't say anything.

"And it was a good half of it, really. He made more objects like that, each housing a smaller and smaller piece of his soul until it had been torn asunder and there wasn't much left in his body."

Now she looked a little green. "His soul? Not just some spell that recreated his consciousness or will?"

He shook his head, and Ginny pushed her plate away. "I knew he was a monster, and I knew that he was fucking twisted from the things he'd told me and shown me, but I didn't realize he was that depraved."

Now Harry felt awful that he'd brought this up—on a first date no less! —and floundered to bring up some other topic, but Ginny continued to speak. "Thank you for telling me, Harry. That part of my life has haunted me for a long time, you know. And I've been trying to make sense of it since I was eleven years old."

Harry still felt terrible and was playing with the cloth napkin set over his lap, wondering how he could save this date.

"Don't look so guilty," Ginny told him, as if reading his mind. "I mean it! This gives me answers I didn't know I needed. And, maybe now, I can put it past me. It made me who I am, but it doesn't define my whole life, you know."

He grinned a little, still feeling like it was a bit of a grimace. "I really liked the sushi, Harry," she told him gently. "But I think I'm ready to leave."

"I understand if you want me to let you just go home," he told her.

She raised her eyebrows at him incredulously. "Are you kidding me? I want to go pick out a pumpkin to carve!

He grinned completely this time. "Great! It's a really cool patch that has spiked cider and only allows adults in at night." He motioned for the waiter to come by and handed him his Muggle credit card. "We can either take the tube or Apparate there."

"How long of a train ride would it be?" she asked.

Harry thought about it. "About forty-five minutes."

As the waiter returned with Harry's credit card, they stood up and began to walk out the door. Night had fallen while they had eaten dinner and the moon was bright and full. Harry briefly thought of Remus, and how he'd be locking himself up right now, if he were still alive.

Ginny's broke Harry's thoughtful silence and suggested, "Maybe we should apparate there, that way we can carve the pumpkins tonight, too."

The sky overhead was filled with stars. Coupling the stars with the way the clearing was ringed by tall, bare trees with fairy lights strung across made for a romantic atmosphere. There were stalls everywhere, advertising hot cider, warmed mead, hot chocolate with liqueur, and all kinds of other autumn treats that had Harry salivating. It reminded him of that first October with his godfather, when he'd been spoiled absolutely rotten.

Ginny was looking about, the light from the trees making her face radiant.

Harry couldn't help staring at her—he was enraptured by the look on her face as she took everything in. "What d'you want to do first?" he asked her with a grin.

Ginny smiled back at him and her smile lit up her face in a way that even the fairy lights weren't able. "Let's go jump in some leaves!"

Harry had never jumped in a pile of leaves—not as a child with the Dursleys, or as a teen with Sirius. It had always seemed like something fun, but a waste of time. It occurred to him for the first time that he was allowed to waste his own time if he wanted, now.

"Race you there!" Ginny exclaimed, taking off as quick as a Nimbus. For a millisecond, he started in surprise before taking off after her, catching up gradually, then matching her stride.

"What's the matter, Potter?" she gasped out. They were almost to the far side of the clearing now, and Harry had had a few people that he'd had to dodge, almost knocking their concessions and children out of their hands. "Are you afraid to beat a girl?"

At her provocation, he couldn't help but push his legs to go faster, outpacing her and diving into the largest pile of leaves, relishing the crunch they made under his weight. Soon after, he felt Ginny land next to him, pushing the leaves outwards. Harry realized he was laughing with joy as his body began to shake.

Ginny was laughing, too, and he decided it was his new favourite sound.

"Beat you!" he crowed, turning towards her. She was already staring at him, eyes dark. Harry's breath caught in his throat and he scooted closer to her, hand cupping her cheek and bringing her lips to his. It felt like the first kiss they'd shared all over again, brain alight from how her lips fit perfectly against his.

He and Ginny pulled apart too soon for Harry's liking and he found himself staring into her eyes, grinning like a fool.

"So, are we going to do a repeat performance of that?" he asked stupidly.

Ginny smirked and his thoughts turned quite indecent, all reason going out the window as he thought of what he'd like to do with her body. He could almost feel the way her legs would wrap around his waist, and how her lips would feel on his neck, biting into it…

Harry pulled himself out of the daydream and averted his eyes from Ginny's. He adjusted himself discreetly. "Wanna jump in more leaves or do something else?" he asked to distract himself.

"Let's get some spiked cider," Ginny answered. "I'm so thirsty, for some reason."

Harry held his hand out to her, and she took it, pulling herself up from the ground. They found a stand with spiked cider and walked much more calmly around the clearing, watching other couples who were there drinking and playing and flirting. He found the courage to take her hand in his again and marveled at how very cold her skin felt.

"Do you need some gloves?" he asked. "You're like an icicle."

Ginny shook her head. "I'm fine, thanks, Harry. Let's go pick out our pumpkins!"

She licked her lips and looked at him and Harry got the strange impression that she was thinking of a meal when she looked at him. _Don't be daft,_ he told himself.

The pumpkin patch was a little picked over, but he and Ginny still were able to trounce about through the small field as they examined various gourds and squash. Ginny eventually picked two—a large green and orange pumpkin with a long, twisted stem, and a small, cute pumpkin she insisted would be "the best for pumpkin pie."

Harry picked out a perfect, round orange one like the ones he'd always wanted when he was young, before he'd known of any prophecies or even magic. They were the kind that Petunia had strictly forbidden in 4 Privet Drive—though come to think of it, she had forbidden any pumpkins in the house at all. Even pumpkin pie or soup had been taboo, as it was "a freakish fruit."

They walked together, holding their pumpkins against their bellies as Harry checked them out at the stand. "Anything else before we leave?" he asked.

Ginny shook her head and just smiled. "Where shall we carve them?" she asked him.

"It's up to you," Harry told her.

"Oh, it's entirely too much pressure!" she complained dramatically. "I could never make a decision. Woe is me!"

Harry chuckled. And let her continue for a few minutes until she finally calmed down the theatrics and told him, "We could go to mine. I've got an excellent roof space that I've rigged with warming charms since the weather turned cold."

"Deal," he agreed. Ginny side-along Apparated them to her flat and Harry admired her bum from behind her as they trudged up the steps until they reached the roof. He sat his pumpkin on the ground and conjured a thick quilt for them to sit on, and then conjured some knives and bowls.

They settled down, Ginny looking very concentrated as she peered at the pumpkin. "What are you going to carve?" Harry asked.

She shushed him, still staring at the pumpkin. She finally nodded to herself and brandished one of the smaller, more delicate knives.

Harry shrugged to himself and picked up his own, taking the large one to cut around the stem and gut the thing.

"Yuck," he said as he plunged his hand into the cold, slimy innards. The smell of the pumpkin drifted into his nostrils, and it almost made the texture in his hand bearable. He scooped the guts out, feeling like it would never end.

Ginny, meanwhile, had made a small outline with her delicate knife. Harry couldn't quite tell what it was, but he trusted it would be something creative. She soon began the gutting process as well, grinning madly as she scooped out the pulp.

"You absolute mad woman," he complimented.

She sent a sexy smirk in his direction and finished up her gutting. Replacing the top, she took the little knife again and traced the outline she'd made. Harry looked at his own, sad, artless pumpkin and wondered what in the world he would carve into it.

He decided on a very uninventive creepy smile, like he'd always seen on all the Muggle carvings. If he couldn't be creative, he could at least imitate, right?

Harry got to work, struggling with his fine motor skills to get the knife to turn the way he'd like. Ginny, however, seemed like an old-pro next to him, looking incredibly at home with a knife in her hand.

"Should I be worried at how good you are with that thing?"

She winked at him. "Do you have any reason to be?"

"Touché."

Soldiering on, Harry finally finished near the same time as Ginny. His pumpkin, however, looked much more like a child had done it.

"You could have asked for help," Ginny teased.

"Why didn't anyone warn me how incorrigible you are?" he teased back, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"You clearly didn't ask any of my family members about me, then," she said. "They would have told you all the dirt."

"Hmm, I guess I still could ask Ron for more. I know where to find him since I caught him and Hermione shagging."

Ginny gasped. "You caught them?"

Harry nodded, trying not to remember too many details. "I was tailing her, you see, as I thought she was the perp for my case."

"Perp?" she asked.

"Perpetrator," he explained. "But instead of seeing anything incriminating, I just saw Ron taking her knickers off."

Ginny shuddered. "That's fucking ghastly. Never wanted that image in my brain… do you think brain soap exists?"

Harry chuckled. "They may be working on it in the Department of Mysteries," he joked. "But it might involve taking your brain out of your skull."

"Whatever it takes to get that picture out," she told him. "Nasty."

"You're telling me," Harry agreed. "Now, let's see your pumpkin."

She turned it around to face him. She had carved a witch riding a broom with a quaffle tucked underneath her arm. "That's really good," he complimented her. "You really are good with that knife."

"I can be quite good with things in my hands," Ginny intoned.

Harry blushed. "You definitely are."

Now Ginny flushed, and Harry grinned, heart pounding in his chest as she pictured just what her hands could do.

He found himself leaning toward her for the second time that night, and their lips met even more quickly this time. Pumpkins forgotten, he pulled her body on top of his, nearly moaning as she straddled her legs around his waist. He pushed himself up against her, tongue running along her bottom lip. She granted him entrance, and he immediately teased her tongue with his playfully. Ginny moaned and wriggled against him. He brought his hand up to her breast, eliciting a whine.

He removed his hand and she complained until he found his way under the hem of her dress. He was tempted to allow his hand to stop, hesitating, near the line of her knickers, but continued to his original goal—her bra.

He palmed her breast gently, tweaking her nipple through the cotton garment.

"Harry," Ginny whined.

"Oh, do you like that?" he asked, mockingly, voice husky.

She nodded, mouth opening as he continued his ministrations, his other hand pulling at the hem of her dress, attempting to bring it up and over her body. She let out a frustrated growl and tore it off herself before her hands found their way to Harry's waistband. She played with the buckle on his trousers for a moment before discarding it in triumph.

She rubbed her warm center over him, grinding herself onto his hardness.

Now he moaned. "Gods," he muttered, voice sounding strangled.

Ginny rubbed herself against him harder, fumbling with his trouser button.

She gave up and pulled his hand away from her breast, guiding it under the top elastic of her knickers. Not needing more encouragement, Harry trailed his hand down teasingly, sliding his fingers in her wetness teasingly. Ginny bucked against his hand, and he trailed his hand upward, out of her knickers and to her belly.

He flipped them over and kissed his way down her belly, lips lingering on her clothed clit. She mewled softly.

Grinning in satisfaction, he pulled her knickers down her legs and flung them somewhere near the door to the roof. Kissing her again, he trailed the kisses until his lips met her center, tongue circling her clit and then biting her inner thigh playfully. "Oh, Harry," Ginny whined.

He needed to taste her fully, he decided. He kissed her thigh gently where he'd nipped at her and then licked her slit. Her hands fisted his hair, yanking hard. The pain of her hands tugging on his hair turned him on more and he continued to lick, nip, and kiss her.

Her legs began to tremble around his shoulders as she moaned her release.

Harry kissed his way back up her body in satisfaction, finally finding her lips.

"I like the way you taste like me," Ginny murmured.

Harry smiled. "I like the way you taste."

She smirked back at him. "You know what I also think I like?"

"What's that?"

"The way your dick feels inside of me. Maybe you should remind me, so I can be sure."

Harry didn't hesitate, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down and off him, kicking them off his legs a little awkwardly, as one hand was still on Ginny's breast and the other was on his hard member, where he was immediately guiding it to Ginny's center. She opened her legs wide for him, and he felt welcomed as soon as he was inside her.

He heard her sigh as if in relief, and he felt the same way. He was still for a moment, relishing the way it felt to be inside her. Ginny rolled her hips at him, creating a wave of delicious sensation. He couldn't hold still anymore and began to thrust in and out, his pelvis grinding against hers with every other movement.

"Oh, yes," he heard her sigh as he enveloped one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking on it and biting it gently. Harry felt her tighten around him and he nipped gently at her creamy breast as he brought his thumb to her nub. Ginny's moaned quietly again, and her legs began to quiver before she tightened and pulsed around him, her back arching off the rooftop.

 _Fuck_ , he thought. She was so beautiful and breathtakingly sexy. He removed his mouth from her nipple and found her lips, kissing her tenderly, slowing his thrusting. Ginny's hands grabbed onto his shoulders, nails digging lightly into his skin with every thrust.

It occurred to Harry as he continued to thrust into her that he couldn't imagine being inside anyone else at all. He didn't want to imagine it, either. He just wanted Ginny, and he wanted to be the only one for her, as well. He wanted to be hers, and hers alone.

Ginny cursed again and Harry kissed her deeply, nibbling on her bottom lip and caressing it with his tongue. She opened her mouth and his tongue teased hers briefly before she pulled away and grabbed onto his arms, somehow flipping them so that Ginny was on top of him.

She settled her weight onto him, a smile taking over her face as she rose up and then down, one hand moving to her breast and the other to Harry's chest.

He let her control their rhythm, enjoying how Ginny felt and how she seemingly took joy in having control of him. Harry somehow got harder, thinking of how he'd love her to control him more.

Ginny switched it up and thrust in a circular motion, moaning. She began to cum again and Harry could no longer hold back.

She collapsed on top of him, spent, and Harry's arms found their way around her naked torso, taking comfort in her bare skin.

"Mmm," he murmured.

"We've gotta do that again, soon," Ginny told him, sounding tired.

"I agree," Harry said. "Let's make it a regular thing."

"Let's," Ginny told him.

He grinned and pulled her face to his, lips meeting lips with that now-familiar jolt that made his brain misfire.

A regular thing it did become.


	11. Chapter 10: collected

_**CHAPTER TEN: COLLECTED** _

After their first date, Ginny and Harry saw each other nearly every day. Every moment she spent with Harry brightened Ginny's world, and she slowly began to forget all the reasons that she had been determined to stay away from Harry—well, mostly, she reassured herself that those reasons no longer mattered.

A month after their first date found Ginny locking up the store, making sure all the nighttime security measures were in place before she exited the front door. As she exited into Diagon Alley, a chilly breeze ripped through the alley. Goosebumps appeared underneath her thick jumper and cloak. The weather had taken a turn for the worst throughout the day, and Ginny was almost certain it would soon snow.

She hadn't played in the snow in so long and she thought it would be a fun memory for her to make with Harry should the weather permit. But maybe she could stand for it to be a little longer before it snowed—her winter boots were worn out and she needed new ones she couldn't quite afford. She might be able to if it weren't for school, but she was trying to make small payments to Gringotts to keep the accrued amount down at the end of her training.

She had been going to curse-breaking school while manning Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes in the evenings and on weekends. Her help allowed Ron to spend more time with Hermione, who had apparently been his girlfriend for around a year. She wasn't sure how he'd managed to keep that one a secret from everyone in the family, but Ginny did commend him.

Ginny pulled her cloak more tightly against her body, wishing she'd worn her leather jacket. She should have known better than to skip the weather forecast on the wireless before she'd left the house this morning.

Shaking her head at herself, Ginny hurried towards the apparition point, not liking the way the shadows in the alley were looking. They seemed extra ominous tonight—it felt like an omen that she didn't want to know the outcome of.

She knew Harry was working a late shift tonight, so she would be alone at her flat. They'd been dating for a few weeks, and while they weren't ready to get married, things had become rather serious, rather quickly. Ginny didn't mind in the least; she enjoyed Harry's company, and she was finding more and more that she wanted to share with him about her days—even the boring, noneventful ones like today's.

She had gone to class this morning and they had covered yet more basics that she had learned from Bill long ago. The instructors had informed she and her classmates that the first month of classes would be mostly Defence Against the Dark Arts review and some spellwork that they taught Aurors in the academy.

Harry really enjoyed asking her about her classes and what she was learning, and Ginny loved to tell him about it. He was a great listener, and he always helped her if she was struggling with a spell that she hadn't encountered before. She thought he would make a good teacher but didn't share her thoughts.

Ginny wondered if she should stop for takeout on the way home or if she should eat the leftovers from the meal she and Harry had made the night before. She really didn't feel like re-heating the paella. She also thought that some sushi sounded bloody delicious. Damn Harry for getting her hooked on the food!

Something behind her clacked against the cobblestone-lined street and Ginny stopped where she was, listening. All was quiet again. There was no one else about in the alley. Everything was still. Too still, she thought. The moon shone down overhead, bathing everything in a soft, silvery light.

She continued, and as she passed Eeylops Owl Emporium, she realized that she was indeed being followed. She decided to ignore it—perhaps against her better judgment—and ducked into a side alley that would lead her back to her brothers' shop. She could use her key to make her way up to Ron's flat. He had limited floo access (it only could access the Ministry of Magic's Magic Reversal Squad and the Burrow), but Ginny thought that if she hurried, she may be able to give whoever was following her the slip and just go to her parents' house.

All thoughts of sushi were forgotten as she scurried down the alley, looking behind her and seeing a shadow at the entrance. She broke into a run, in sight of the shop's back door. _Almost there,_ she told herself. _Push yourself._

She finally reached the door, the footsteps behind her growing louder as the shadow got closer. She fumbled with the keys, trying to fish the correct one out of all ten keys on the ring. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," she muttered. "Bloody hell, you fucking key."

She looked over her shoulder, hand trying to jam the key into the lock.

Ginny dropped the keys and cursed again, wondering if she should blast her way through the door and up to Ron's flat.

Her heart was pounding in her chest and she was sweating. Her hands were clammy as she tried to grasp onto her wand, but it slipped, too.

The shadow was upon her and with a strange _whooshing,_ it was in front of her.

"Stay away," Ginny warned the shadow, hand shaking as she reached for her wand.

"Don't even try it, little witch," the shadow told her.

Ginny knew the voice, she realized. He was one of Doru's men.

"Why are you here?" she asked him.

His face became visible, and she flinched. He was paler than she had remembered, and something seemed… heart-stoppingly different.

"What's happened to you?" she asked, still receiving no answer from him.

Her mind flashed back to that strange dream she'd had at the beginning of the month, how Doru had been… drinking blood from her. Her hand traveled to her neck, feeling for the abnormalities that she had been so sure would have been there the next morning. Nothing was there, now, either. Still, Ginny felt a strange sensation underneath her skin when her hand made contact.

"Why are you here?" Ginny repeated, a strange feeling overcoming her. A headiness she'd felt only the day after that dream, but never again.

Doru's man smiled at her and a chill made its way up Ginny's spine.

"I'm here for you, of course," he told her, smile even more cold. "Master Doru hasn't heard from you in a while and you owe him a painting."

"No," Ginny said. "I'm done. I'm not working for Master Doru anymore."

"No one is ever done working for Master Doru," he began to reach out for her. Ginny's hand struggled against the doorknob, praying for her magic to open it through sheer will.

It opened, finally, and Ginny clicked it as quietly as she could.

"Don't even try it, deary," he warned. "You're coming with me."

"The hell I am," Ginny swore. She threw the door open behind her and then closed it as quickly as she could, but before it could close all the way, he placed his foot between the door and the frame.

"I don't think so."

He pushed the door open and she couldn't hold him off. She fought him tooth and nail, but he managed to get hold of her neck and the world began to darken around her. As a last ditch effort to defy him—and Doru—Ginny slipped one of her shoes off onto the floor of the store. She needed them to know she hadn't just taken off. They had to find her.

His grip tightened and Ginny went limp.

She woke up gradually sometime later, head pounding as if it had been hit by a bludger—and she knew what getting hit by a bludger felt like. She groaned and tried to sit up, finding herself unable. She tugged on her arms and feet and realized that she was tied to a chair. It wasn't the worst chair, she supposed, to be tied to—but she'd rather not be tied up at all (unless it was Harry doing the tying).

"Aww, she's awake," a feminine voice said.

Opening her eyes completely, it took Ginny a moment to make herself focus. When the witch who'd spoken came into focus, she saw that it was Morana who stood in front of her.

"Why?" she asked. Her voice felt raspy, as if she'd been asleep for longer than she had realized.

"Why are you awake?" Morana asked liltingly. "Why, because O'Malley was a good boy and didn't kill you."

"You know what I mean, Morana," Ginny argued, head throbbing.

"You reneged on your deal with Master Doru," Morana explained. "That's unacceptable."

"What was unacceptable was being used," said Ginny. "I'm not a puppet."

"You were a puppet when you needed the potions," Morana said. "But Master Doru kindly got rid of your addiction."

"Got rid of?"

Morana shook her head. "Are you truly so dense to not realize what he is? How powerful he is? Everything he can do for us?"

Ginny had heard this kind of talk before with Death Eaters and she wished she had realized what she was getting into sooner. Her judgment had been so clouded by the pain of her crushed dreams.

"If he's so powerful, why isn't he here, as well?"

"He is attending to other matters, but will be here soon, cousin."

"I'm not your cousin," Ginny told her. She had been dying to say it for so long but had known it would never help her.

"You will be. You're destined to be."

Ginny had no idea what Morana was on about and wondered if she was on some potions of her own. She didn't reply.

They sat in silence for a long while, Ginny still tied to the chair and Morana pacing about the room. Ginny took the opportunity to observe everything she could about the room she was being held in.

It was the same room which she had accidentally found Doru in in her dream—though Ginny was beginning to suspect that it hadn't been a dream at all. As Ginny remembered more and more details of the dream, horror grew within her. Who had been the girl she'd found him drinking from? Was she alright? And what had happened after Ginny had blacked out? How had she made it home?

She felt dirty, remembering his lips on her neck, and the way that he had kissed the skin right between her shoulder and neck before he had bitten her, teeth delicately biting into her skin, slicing through layers and layers before he had begun to… to, what? Drink her blood? Ginny tried to remember. Had he drank her blood? All she remembered was reliving her last years at Hogwarts.

 _Think harder_ , Ginny urged herself. Pushing past the memories of the Carrows, she tried to picture what had happened while his teeth had been inside her skin.

He had drank her blood, she realized, sickened. He had taken it from her, and she hadn't been able to stop him. She remembered fighting him before she was finally able to push him away, and she'd tried to kill him. Merlin, no wonder he was angry with her. She had tried to kill what had to be an immensely powerful vampire.

How would she get out of this?

If only Harry knew she was here, Ginny thought.

She had never been reliant on someone else to save her before, however, and she knew that she couldn't fall into that habit now.

She watched Morana as she continued to pace, hands laced together behind her back, dark hair a curtain covering the side of her face. "Why do you work for Doru?" Ginny couldn't stop herself from asking as she observed the witch.

Morana froze in the middle of the Turkish rug and turned to face Ginny. "He saved me," she said simply.

People like Doru didn't save witches and wizards from the goodness of their hearts, Ginny thought. "What happened?" she asked.

"Well, I was a little girl, on the continent. My parents had been murdered by a vampire, and I was about to be, as well. Just when the vampire—her name was Carmilla—had nearly drained me dry, Master Doru walked in and pulled her off me."

"Why?" Ginny asked.

Morana shrugged. "I have never known—only that he killed Carmilla and took me under his wing, hiring private tutors to teach me magic and other basics like maths and reading. He brought me up in this manor, taught me the trade of his business, and I became his potions master as I passed my NEWTs."

"So, it's been your potions you've been feeding me," Ginny realized.

Morana nodded. "Yes. Master Doru made sure they were the highest quality for you."

"You mean the most addictive," Ginny spat.

Morana shrugged again. "Maybe so. You were already addicted when you found your way to us—otherwise you never would have approached me in the first place."

Ginny shamefully realized that Morana was right.

"Then again," Morana continued, "We also did make sure we made ourselves easily available to you once you were out of hospital."

The door opened with a loud creak and Ginny turned her head to see who had entered.

It was Master Doru. He looked younger, more refreshed than she remembered him looking the last time she had seen him. He looked less monstrous, too, but Ginny knew now that it was a ploy.

"Now, now, Morana, are you going to tell Ginevra all our secrets?" he chastised.

Morana's eyebrows furrowed and she bowed lightly. "Only what you would tell her if you'd been in here with her questions, Master."

"She didn't learn her lesson the last time about asking questions, hmm?" asked Doru, drawing ever closer to Ginny.

She turned away from Doru, avoiding eye contact. "Evidently not," Ginny told them acerbically.

"Well, it matters not," Doru announced. "I have plans for you, young Ginevra."

Ginny glared at the floor, still refusing to look in his eyes.

Doru moved closer and his hand began to reach for her. She struggled away, trying to pull back as far as she could in her restraints. He grabbed her chin, pale hand cold against her skin. He forced her gaze upwards into his, and she immediately closed her eyes.

"Now that won't do," he commented. "Open your eyes, Ginevra."

Ginny ignored him, clenching them tightly shut.

"Morana, if you would," Doru commanded.

Ginny heard Morana step forward, and then a brief rustling before, " _Imperio."_

Ginny's head became light, and her heart was calmer than it had been in a while. She couldn't remember what she'd just been doing, or why she felt like she should be worrying.

 _Ginny, you should open your eyes,_ a voice from her subconscious told her. Ginny didn't see why it wouldn't be a bad idea. Afterall, it was _so much work_ keeping her eyes shut like this… she began to open her eyes. She saw a pair of cold, black eyes in front of her and something began to rise up within her. _Don't fight,_ the voice commanded. _It will ruin your peaceful calm._

Something didn't feel right, though, another voice was warning her.

The eyes were so cold—they reminded her of something from long ago. She could almost hear the sound of a snake slithering around her on wet cobblestone. _There are no snakes here._

Something was happening, Ginny was sure of it. The light feeling was dissipating from her mind and she felt as if she was waking up.

"Ginevra, you will stay calm," the owner of the eyes told her.

She was no longer struggling physically. The eyes disappeared from in front of her, moving towards her neck. _No, no, no!_ Ginny thought.

She couldn't move. She felt his teeth sink into the same spot as before—this time there was no shuffling of memories or the feeling of dreaming. Instead, it was all a strange bundle of pain and pleasure. Shameful pleasure from enjoying the pain; it seemed unnatural for her. She felt herself growing weaker, and near the end all the tension left her body as her head lolled back against the chair.

Now, there was something at her mouth. Something tangy—rich and metallic—was pouring into her. She didn't want it—she wouldn't! She couldn't fight, beginning to cough and splutter, and then it was in her throat, and she could no longer fight it, or anything else that she had been struggling against.

Ginny was so full, she felt she might be sick. The room was spinning around her, and she didn't recognize the people in front of her any longer. She wasn't sure she even knew her own name right now. Just the unsettling feeling inside her; her stomach was pitching about, roiling and she felt like retching, but she _still couldn't fucking move._

She began to gag, and the man with the cold, scary eyes told her, "Now, Ginevra, it is time to sleep."

The feeling didn't calm within her, but the world did go black, and she was left to her thoughts for a few moments before everything went quiet.

When she awoke, the world wasn't as cold as she remembered. She no longer sick feeling, either. She was extremely thirsty, though. Her throat burned and all she wanted was a glass of water.

She blinked her eyes open, hoping to find water nearby. She only found Morana. At first, Ginny was glad to see her, ready to ask her for water—or tea, if that was all that was available—until the moments before she had been compelled asleep came back to her, with that same, dream-like quality the last time Doru had drank from her, had. This time, though, Ginny was certain that none of it had been any sort of nightmare… No, it was her life.

She was stuck in Doru's manor, and it seemed she had been forced to drink his blood. Her stomach roiled again, and she began to heave, soon realizing that nothing was coming up. Her stomach was empty.

Merlin, she was so _thirsty._

"Water," she finally croaked.

Morana shook her head. "No, you no longer need water."

Ginny looked at her from all fours, realizing only now that she was no longer bound.

Everything stopped within Ginny, and she became intensely aware of the sound of Morana's heart beating.

"I'm thirsty," she told Morana.

"Yes, I'm sure you are. Follow me," Morana held out her hand, and confused, Ginny took it. Morana helped her up and Ginny clumsily got to her feet. Morana continued to hold her hand as she guided Ginny out the door of the room to another part of the manor.

It was only a few rooms down. Morana opened the door and ushered Ginny in. On the four-poster bed was a woman—Ginny could tell she was a Muggle—laid out in a dress that looked similar to what Ginny had been wearing when she had found Doru with that girl. She was on the bed, a dreamy expression on her face as she reclined against the pillows.

"Go on," Morana told Ginny.

Ginny looked back and forth between Morana and the girl before she closed her eyes and listened. Their hearts were both beating, but the woman did seem to be calling to her for some reason. Hypnotically, Ginny walked towards her and climbed up onto the bed and couldn't help herself as she straddled her hips.

The woman smiled at her. "Let me help you," she told Ginny. "Come here," she opened her arms and pulled Ginny gently to her bosom.

Ginny listened to her heart for a moment before she moved to the woman's neck and sniffed. She couldn't help herself as she nuzzled in and bit down, her lifeblood a balm to Ginny's burning throat. The woman moaned beneath her, but Ginny paid her no mind.

Finally, sated, she pulled away and saw that the woman had fallen asleep.

She climbed off her and wiped away the liquid that had fallen down her chin.

She looked at the blood that had trickled down the woman's neck and onto her collar and Ginny realized what she had done.

"No," she said aloud.

"Yes," Morana told her, pulling her close to her body. "Yes, cousin. I told you, this is what you are destined for."

Ginny shook her head as tears threatened to fall. Her hair fell into her face, and she remembered all the times she had seen it before—it had never looked so _red._ There were so many different shades of colours in her hair that it amazed and overwhelmed her.

"I'm not destined for this life," Ginny argued.

"You have always been meant to be here with Master Doru and I."

Ginny pushed Morana away with all her might and Morana stumbled backwards onto the flagstone floor, throwing her hands beneath her to break her fall.

Ginny could smell that she had scraped her palms. She could also smell Morana's new fear. Her fear filled her, and it made Ginny feel powerful. She could do anything to the witch, she realized. Morana was at her mercy, now, the way she had been at Morana's mercy before.

Morana scrambled to her feet and tried to run for the door, but with new-found speed, Ginny beat her to it and blocked her path.

"Who's in control now, bitch?"


	12. chapter 11: the secret

_**CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE SECRET** _

Harry Potter sat at his desk at the Ministry of Magic, nearly falling asleep from boredom over his paperwork. He had finally decided to list the art theft as an open, but cold case. He and his partner, Neville Longbottom, had both decided that they couldn't continue to waste Ministry resources when they weren't making any headway in the case.

There were simply no leads left.

As he dozed off, head nodding in his hand and eyelids drooping, Harry heard the sound of someone arriving through the Auror floo. Suddenly alert from the sound, Harry stood up and out of his chair, abandoning his paperwork as he glanced at his watch and hurried to the floo. It was half-six—near the end of his shift. How long had he been asleep?

Shaking his head at himself, Harry watched the flames blaze emerald green and as a pair of well-dressed feet appeared, followed by a well-dressed witch. It was Hermione Granger. Things had been slightly tense between them for a week or so after he'd accused her of the art theft, but now she seemed to be over it.

"Oh good, it's you," she greeted. "I was hoping you wouldn't be out on a call."

"Good morning to you too, Hermione," Harry told her. "What's got you here so early? Not another art theft? Neville and I were about to file that case as cold."

Hermione shook her head. "No, not an art theft. Ron went into the shop this morning, and it was a mess."

"That sounds like something for the detectives at Magical Law Enforcement, not the Aurors," Harry told her.

Hermione shook her head again. "Let me finish, Harry. The shop was a mess, and the back door was open, and near the back door he found a shoe… Ginny's shoe."

Harry didn't know how Hermione knew about his new relationship with Ginny, but he didn't concentrate on that. "Her shoe?" He asked. Horror was welling up in him and he forced himself to breathe.

"Yes. It's all that's left. We're worried that something's happened."

Numbly, Harry nodded. "Let me get Neville, and we'll be right over to take a look."

"Alright," Hermione agreed. "Meet me at the Leaky, and I'll show you the way to the back entrance. We don't want to cause a scene in the alley and worry people."

"Of course," said Harry.

He ran his hands through his hair worriedly, fingers massaging his scalp, and watched Hermione shout, "The Leaky Cauldron!" And disappear within the green flames.

As soon as she disappeared and the flames returned to a normal colour—for a moment, Harry absurdly wondered what it must cost the Ministry to keep the flames going constantly—Harry grabbed some floo powder and called Neville's address. This time he didn't stop to think of the vulnerability of his backend as he stuck his head in the fire; he only thought of Ginny in danger.

"Neville!" He called loudly when he saw the view of Neville's living room.

He heard quick, and probably tired, shuffling from somewhere out of view and soon Neville was in front of the hearth in a light blue dressing gown.

"Potter?" He asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Longbottom, you need to get dressed and head to the Leaky Cauldron with me," Harry told him urgently.

"Emergency full English breakfast?" Neville asked.

"Shove off. I'm serious," Harry said through gritted teeth. "Ginny's gone missing and it looks like there was a struggle at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes."

Neville woke up immediately upon hearing Harry's words. "Alright. Just come on through here and we'll Apparate out together once I'm changed."

Harry pulled his head out and pushed himself entirely through the floo and into Neville's living room. He didn't think about how much he hated the floo, or that he needed coffee, or how Neville must not have been able to get much sleep the night before like he normally would. He stood near the hearth, foot tapping anxiously as he waited for Neville.

Probably much quicker than it had felt to Harry, Neville exited a door in the hallway off the living room in full Auror dress—scarlet robes and badge pinned to his breast pocket.

"Let's go, mate," Neville told him. They walked into the designated apparition point in the far corner of Neville's front garden, just outside the wards, and nodded at each other as they each apparated and reappeared outside the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione was waiting for them and upon seeing them immediately began to lead them towards the alley, without pausing to check that the two Aurors were following her.

Harry hurried after Hermione, soon walking in step with her. "What time was it that Ron got to the store this morning?" He asked.

"He'd flooed to the Leaky Cauldron from my home at about six am, and had returned at about six-twenty, so I'd reckon it was about ten after six," she guessed. "That's when I flooed to the Ministry to tell you and then came back."

Neville was nodding beside them. "What time does Ginny usually lock up the store for the night?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione answered. "I know the store closes at ten, but I don't really know what duties she has and how long they take after she closes."

"She usually gets home around eleven," Harry said. "That's a long time for her to be gone, or unaccounted for."

They were nearing what had to be Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Ron was standing in the alley, head in his hands, with George pacing frantically next to him. "Took you lot long enough," Ron snarled when he saw them. Hermione put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Harry worriedly glanced again at his watch. It was about 7 am now.

"Sorry," Harry apologized needlessly. "Show us what you've found."

Ron nodded and beckoned them into the store. "I opened the front door and came into this mess."

It was the back of the store, near the till and the storeroom. There was indeed a shoe in the middle of the merchandise that looked like it had been flung about. Harry recognized it was one of Ginny's trainers that she'd been wearing the morning before when she'd left his flat.

His heart continued to plummet as he bent down. "She must have known to leave it for us," he told Neville, looking for anything else that might lead to clues.

There was nothing else of note besides the mess of merchandise strewn, and he turned back towards the back door to examine that. "Hermione said the back door was open?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah. And Ginny's keys were right outside it as well, on the ground in the side alley."

Harry examined the doorknob and performed a spell. "It looks like the lock was magicked open."

"Probably dropped the keys in the struggle," Neville suggested. "Has anyone been to her residence to check for her there?"

The two Weasley brothers and Hermione all shook their heads negatively. "We called you as soon as we saw this," George explained. "Ginny hasn't been working for us long, but she'd never leave the shop in this condition—especially wouldn't leave with only one shoe."

Harry couldn't argue with that logic and was glad they had thought to get in touch with him before anything else. "Nobody touch anything, got it? Your shop needs to remain closed for at least today. Longbottom, I need you to get the Magical Forensics team out here and see if there's anything we've missed. I'll be heading to her flat."

Everyone nodded and followed his instructions. As he and Neville headed back up the side alley, Harry began to feel sick to his stomach with worry. "Something's not right about this, mate," muttered Harry. "I've got an awful feeling that something's gone horribly wrong."

"Let me know if you need me at her flat, mate," Neville told him. "I know how hard it must be, with you being involved and all."

Harry couldn't rightly explain how he felt more than simply involved with her. He stayed silent and they nodded their farewells at the apparition point.

Harry ran up the stairs to Ginny's flat and knocked on the door. "Ginny?" He called.

There was no answer, and no rustling from inside. He gave the password to the door and it allowed him entrance. Her flat looked normal, he thought, as he peered around.

Her jack-o-lantern that she'd carved with him from earlier in the month was sitting on the windowsill by her little twin bed, and he fought the memories of rolling around with her on it as he decided to look for clues that may help him find her.

He felt slightly guilty invading her privacy but would rather do that than find her dead somewhere or being tortured in some cellar.

He looked under the sink in her kitchenette and saw some paints. The colours reminded him of something, but Harry wasn't sure what. He remembered her mentioning that she did art sometimes.

He continued to poke about and looked under the twin bed, finding a wooden pine box and a rolled up canvas.

He opened the canvas first and found himself extremely confused. The painting reminded him of the Raysse painting that had gone missing… why would she be painting _Last Year In Capri_?

Frowning deeply, he turned towards the box. It wouldn't open. Harry ran some test spells and found that the latch was flesh-bonded. Most witches and wizards didn't know, but the Aurors were taught a spell in the academy that undid such magic, if there weren't additional enchantments.

Luckily for Harry, there weren't any extra enchantments beyond the basic flesh-bonding. He undid the spell and opened the box to find four potions vials, all uncorked, with the last only half-finished. What in the world?

He grabbed an evidence baggie and placed all of the vials in it—he'd take it to the potions lab at the Ministry for tracing. It was his best piece of evidence.

What had Ginny gotten herself into?

Harry continued to poke around but found no other clues to lead him to Ginny. He made sure to put the evidence bag of potions vials and to grab the imitation Raysse painting before he left, locking the door behind him.

Harry made his way back to the Ministry, apparating directly into the Ministry of Magic and passing through security quickly—as an Auror he had special privilege to pass in front of others, but Harry rarely used the privilege, unless on an important case.

He practically ran to the potions lab, praying to Merlin that there were no orders in front of his.

"Hello?" he called as he entered their foyer. The potions lab had a foyer for visitors and those putting forward an official request, and then several potions labs that were almost always in use. He knew he wouldn't be allowed past a certain point for safety reasons, but he wasn't going to just stand there if no one answered him. Ginny's life hung in the balance.

"Hello?" Harry called again. Finally, a wizard came out, hair slightly puffy from humidity. His robes were slightly askew, and there were burn marks on one of his cheeks. "Er, you alright?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"Fine, fine," the wizard waved him off. "How can I help you so early in the morning?"

Harry frowned, but replied, "I have some evidence I need processing. It's for a missing persons case so we need it to be rushed, as the first forty-eight hours after are always crucial, and we're already going on about ten hours."

The wizard took the baggie from him. "I can't guarantee that it'll be done quickly, but we will certainly put it ahead of whatever isn't already in a cauldron. What do you want us to do with them?"

"See if you can trace the potions back to any specific potions dealers, or if there's anything else of note that might help the investigation," Harry instructed. "And please, let me, or Auror Longbottom, if I'm not available, know what you find out as soon as you do."

The wizard nodded. "Sure will. Could be about three days."

"Three fucking days?" Harry asked, voice raising.

"It's the standard time that it takes to trace these types of things. I'm sorry we can't do it any quicker—you can develop a new method for potioneers, if you'd like."

Harry shook his head but didn't reply. Muggle technologies were advancing and getting faster all the time, but the Wizarding world couldn't stand to progress. What a load of tossers, he thought.

"Just let me know," he finally gritted out and waved in farewell. He stormed back up to the Auror offices and found Neville at his desk, pouring over a piece of parchment as he drank a cup of coffee.

"Find anything else at the shop?" Harry asked in greeting.

Neville glanced up at him, a look of tiredness in his eyes that Harry wasn't sure he'd ever seen on the wizard. "Not much. The shoe and the keys, and the magicked door. They're all clues that Ginny was in a struggle, but nothing points to who took her."

Harry groaned. "I had a bit more luck at her flat, but the evidence I found leaves me concerned and confused."

"What did you find there?"

"A halfway done imitation of the Raysse painting that was stolen earlier in the month, and some emptied potions vials."

Neville rubbed his face tiredly, frowning. "What would Ginny be doing with those?"

"I have no clue, but I have a bad feeling that she may have gotten herself into something sticky. I sent the vials to the potions lab for tracing back to any illegal dealers, but they said it would take about three days for them to complete the potion needed for that."

Shaking his head, Neville said, "Dear Merlin," and sighed. "Anything else to go on?"

"Not at the moment. I'd say we'd question those closest to her, but that would be us, her brothers, and her mum and dad. I don't think any of them would know anything about illegal potions use."

"Most likely not," agreed Neville. "Say, do you remember how Ginny was playing for the Harpies before an injury?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, I don't think that the press let on to how bad her injury was. Ginny almost didn't walk again—let alone fly."

Harry let that sink in. "That would explain why it ended her career so early. And it could explain a potions issue. It happens to a lot of witches and wizards who had to be heavily sedated for a while—usually Aurors injured on the job or Quidditch players."

Neville nodded. "I wish she would have told someone."

"Me too," sighed Harry. "I hate not doing anything to find her."

"Why don't you get in contact with your CI? Maybe you could show her the fake-Raysse and see if she recognizes it."

"You're absolutely brilliant!"

Harry quickly wrote a missive and sent it off, asking Cho to meet him at the Hog's Head Inn, as soon as possible. He wasn't sure how long the owl would take to get to her, but he would be there when she arrived. He grabbed his cloak, waved to Neville, and walked to the Atrium to apparate away.

When he arrived in Hogsmeade, Harry made his way hurriedly to the inn and took his seat at his normal table. "A little early in the morning to start drinking," Aberforth told him as he approached Harry.

"Here for business, Abe," Harry answered. "Could I get a coffee?"

"I don't sell that shite here," Aberforth chastised. "I can get you a pumpkin juice or butterbeer. Or I've got some old tea in my flat that I could get you."

Harry shook his head. "A pumpkin juice will be fine then, thanks."

Aberforth nodded and walked away.

Harry waited about a half hour before Cho arrived. She was dressed quite posh and Harry guessed that she'd been about to head to some sort of gallery that she managed.

"What's this about?" she asked as soon as she was in earshot. "It sounded important."

"I'm working a missing persons case," he told her. She looked at him blankly as he continued to explain. "It seems to be connecting back to the theft of the Raysse painting, so I thought I'd pick your brain."

Cho nodded in understanding.

"I found a half-finished imitation of _Last Year in Capri_ in the victim's flat, so I was hoping you might know why she'd have that, as well as if you'd recognize the style of art and match it to a one of your underground dealers."

"Most likely," replied Cho thoughtfully, "Your victim is also part of the heist. There are magical art dealers who sell the original stolen painting, and then replace the original at the scene of the crime with a counterfeit to throw off Law Enforcement."

Cho took a sip of the mimosa that Aberforth had brought her (Harry wondered why the man would have champagne at a pub like this, but not coffee), and said, "Do you have the imitation with you?"

"Yeah," Harry said, pulling it out of his pocket. He unrolled it and laid it on the table. Cho's narrowed as she looked it over.

"It's hard to tell," she finally told him. "The brushstrokes are truly a good imitation of Raysse's. Do you mind if I take a picture of this? I may be able to ask some colleagues if they recognize it."

"Do what you need," Harry assured her. "Please let me know what you can if you find anything out."

"Of course," Cho smiled at him. "Are you alright?" she asked as she took out a small digital camera and snapped a picture. "You seem more worried than you have been for any cases I've seen you on."

"Yes, thanks," replied Harry, uncomfortably. "Thanks for asking, though."

Cho didn't need to know, he thought. Especially with their past.

Cho nodded but didn't look like she believed him. "Well, alright." She shoved the camera into her bag and said, "I'd best be off. I'll let you know what I hear."

"Thank you. You know what to do if you hear anything."

"Yeah, yeah," she smiled over her shoulder at Harry. "I'll rub your coin."

He wasn't sure how she made it sound so dirty but shrugged it off as he left a few sickles for Aberforth on the table.

As Cho left, Harry decided to head up to Hogwarts. He glanced at his watch and hoped that Minerva wouldn't be busy. He thought he might like to talk to her.

For the first time all morning, he allowed himself to walk slowly up to the castle. He had no more evidence to gather yet, unfortunately. He felt there should be something more he could do—the detectives in those Muggle telly shows always had a new lead to follow that would allow them to save their victim just in the nick of time. What if he were too late to save Ginny?

He finally reached the castle gates and they opened for him. There weren't many students about on the grounds, Harry observed, but a glance at his watch told him that most of them would be in their morning classes. The chill in the air was probably enough to deter any students wishing to laze about on the grounds as well, he reasoned.

As he walked through the castle, up the many moving staircases, he imagined Ginny walking the corridors in a Gryffindor uniform, carrying a school bag and books. He sometimes ached to have experienced Hogwarts as it was when Sirius and Remus had gone. He wondered who he would have been friends with there, and if he would have had excellent adventures with them.

As he arrived at the Headmistresses' office, Harry told the gargoyle the password, still _ad astra per aspera_ , and walked up the stone, spiral steps. She answered on the first knock, luckily. He wasn't sure that he had ever seen a look of surprise on Minerva's face before, but she seemed faintly surprised when she saw that he was the one at her door.

"You weren't expecting anyone else, were you?" Harry asked.

"No," answered Minerva. "I had some strange feeling that there was a first year getting into trouble somewhere and thought a professor may be making their way to find me."

"What trouble could a first year get up to?" asked Harry incredulously.

"You would be surprised," she replied, eyebrows raised. "Why, I remember when Hermione Granger was almost killed by a troll when she was eleven in the lavatory."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like an interesting story."

She shook her head. "Ah, some details of the ordeal are lost the mists of time. What brings you to Hogwarts, Potter?"

"I'm on a case, and I just needed to talk to someone who knows me."

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "Good heavens, surely I'm not the only one, Potter?" she asked fondly. Harry briefly wondered if she might reach out and ruffle his hair. He instinctively backed away. He thought he saw her lips twitch.

"Well, you see," he explained. "Ginny Weasley's gone missing."

Minerva's mouth dropped open slightly. "Again? Poor girl."

"What do you mean, again?"

"She was taken in her first year here—quite a theme, apparently—and was trapped in the Chamber of Secrets for hours before Albus rescued her."

"Oh, she'd told me a bit about that," he said, thinking out loud.

"She did? That's not something you bring up in polite company."

"I'm not exactly polite company," Harry told her wryly. "But if you must know, she told me about it when I took her to dinner."

She didn't comment, but she did look more worried than he'd seen her look in a long while.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"Oh, it's nothing… Just rumours. I'm quite sure they're not true," she hedged. "After all, I've been proven a fool to listen to rumour before."

Harry knew she was referring to Sirius. Oh, how he missed his godfather dearly.

"What is it?"

"There are rumours that during the war, Ginny Weasley took an unorthodox approach to protecting the castle. You see, there were some teachers who turned up missing not long after they had taken her and some other Gryffindors to detention."

"Detention?" Harry asked, confused. Why would teachers go missing after a simple detention?

"They were Death Eaters, Potter, here to control the students and staff for Lord Voldemort."

He remembered a time when she hadn't dared utter Voldemort's name—he felt briefly happy that witches and wizards were feeling safe enough to finally call him by what had been taboo, but then he processed what she had said.

"So, detention?"

"Was torture, simply. We tried to stop it when we could, but we could not always do so without endangering more lives."

Harry nodded. He had heard that Hogwarts had been hell, but no one had ever opened up about the details. "And you say they went missing after Ginny 'served detention' with them?"

"Yes, Potter. Now, it could be coincidence. Perhaps Voldemort grew tired of them. Perhaps they fled the country. But they never showed their faces again, and the acromantula colony grew larger and more robust during that time."

Harry shivered, having come across those acromantulas himself.

"And you think..."

"I do not know. None of us do."

"And this makes you think that she's not a good match?" Harry asked, growing slightly annoyed.

"If the rumours are true, Harry, she's murdered."

"I've murdered people," he reminded Minerva. "We were in a war!"

"But she was so young," she despaired. "To have made that choice so young…"

Harry shook his head. "Sometimes you make the choice to survive. I did. If she killed them, so did she. If those Death Eaters were torturing students—children—then she did the world a favour."

"You're not wrong," she agreed hesitantly. "But if you find that girl, please promise me to be careful. I would hate to lose you, too."

Harry anger retreated as he understood. "I will, as much as my Gryffindor-like bravery will allow me to, anyhow."

Minerva's lips thinned further, but she nodded. "Unfortunately, I don't have anything to help you find her. But you'd best get back to it."

Harry agreed. "I'll get in touch with you again when this is all over," he promised. "I'll see you soon, Aunt Minerva."

She nodded, and with that, Harry left her office.


	13. Chapter 12: parasite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is formatted a bit differently than previous chapters. I thought it was a pivotal point to break things up, so I hope it doesn't throw anyone off too much! Also, if you're into playlist suggestions that go along with chapters, the song I listened to while writing this chapter is called Not Human by elegant slims--I think it went along perfectly with Ginny's experience.

_**CHAPTER TWELVE: PARASITE** _

Ginny paced back and forth. She had knocked Morana out shortly after their confrontation, and now she wasn't sure what her next move was. She had bitten off more than she could chew—and it had apparently bitten her right back. She had fought every other tough situation she'd come across in her short life and she had always come out on top. Ginny just wasn't sure how she could win this time.

She looked at Morana, and then the Muggle woman who had begged her to drink from her. She couldn't be a vampire, could she? She had never thought it would happen to her—out of all the dangers she had faced, never had she imagined that this would be one of them. She had worried more often about lycanthropy, even, than being bit by and becoming a vampire.

How could she fight _this?_

The only thing left was revenge, she supposed.

That was certainly something she could get behind, she decided. She would kill Doru for this and rid the world of him forever. Everyone was better off without him here, stealing and selling addictive substances and taking advantage of those in need.

She no longer felt guilt for killing the Carrows, and she wondered briefly if it was a side effect of her change. She had felt an immense amount of guilt and mourned the loss of her innocence only weeks before, and now, here she was, contemplating doing the same exact thing.

She had never thought this was who she would become. She had thought she'd been destined for great things: Quidditch star, famous artist, and a slew of other things that could have been, if things hadn't happened quite the way that they had.

Instead, here she was in this godforsaken manor house, a member of the undead.

On the bright side, Ginny thought, she no longer thirsted for those pain potions; she only thirsted for blood now. After the thought, Ginny rolled her eyes at her own internal dramatics and went back to planning.

Ginny opened the door and peered into the corridor. It looked empty. She hurried out and decided on a random direction to try to escape. She walked and walked and walked, and somehow, she found the drawing room she'd always sat in when she'd presented her work to Master Doru. From there, she was easily able to make her way to the front door. She opened it, wondering if it should have been so easy to escape, and found daylight awaiting her.

She had passed numerous windows, and they had all made it look like it was night outside. She realized now that they must have been heavily tinted to protect from the sun. She stared out at her freedom and remembered with a heavy heart that vampires couldn't live in sunlight. They burned to a crisp after a few short minutes. That was why it had been so easy to make her way to the front door. Even a few short days ago, that daylight would have assured Ginny safety from these creatures of the night.

Now, she was one of them and she couldn't escape until night fell.

By then, she was sure that Doru would be up and about. Ginny tried to remember from Defence Against the Dark Arts—did vampires sleep in coffins? She didn't have any sort of instinct for it, she decided, so probably not.

She decided that instead of sitting here, wasting away in front of the door, she would look for an umbrella. She thought that should protect her until she could find shelter. Luckily, the sun wasn't as harsh in the autumn as it was in the summer. Of course, she didn't find any umbrellas.

Forlornly, Ginny closed the door and retired to the drawing room. She watched the fire dance for hours and marveled how different it looked with her new vision. She looked at the clock above the mantel often, too. It had only been morning when she had made her way to almost-freedom, and she still had several hours to go before the sun would disappear behind the horizon.

She didn't want to live for an eternity like this, she thought.

Finally, at about 1 pm, Ginny grabbed a book off the large bookcase and began to read. It was an art history, and she was surprised to find that at least she had one shared interest with Doru. Then again, she was almost sure that her art skills were the reason he had picked her.

Ginny read with interest, finishing the book around four p.m. She wondered how the sun was making progress—it looked dark outside in the large window in the drawing room—and went back to the front door.

"Ginevra?" a voice floated toward her as the door creaked open.

She turned and found Doru. Her heart dropped.

"My, what a fine specimen you make, my dear," Doru complimented. "I knew that this was your destiny as soon as I saw you."

Ginny fought her instinct to tell him where he could get off. Instead, she decided to go along with him. "I do like this life so far. All the colours are so much brighter."

He smiled. "Is that so? Is that why you had the door open?"

"I just wanted to see what the grass would look like," she lied. She felt his gaze penetrating into her skull. Ginny had a feeling he knew that she was lying. If she were still human, she was sure her heart would be pounding away in her chest. Now it continued to beat a sedate rhythm.

"You'll be able to see it just as well by the light of the moon," he informed her, smile wide and fangs on display more than Ginny had ever seen. Some old instinct made a chill go through her body. "There's so much to teach you, young one. We'll have lessons each day. Now, I have some business to discuss before I take you to our breakfast date in the upper part of the manor house."

Ginny nodded along to what Doru told her numbly. "What business is that?"

"Follow me to my office."

She followed him as he led her down numerous staircases. Ginny didn't recognize this part of the manor, but that wasn't a surprise at all to her. He opened a large, sturdy-looking oak door and gestured for Ginny to enter.

With trepidation she did as instructed and found herself in a large room lined with yet more books and paintings. In the middle, in front of a blazing fireplace, sat a mahogany writing desk and a cushy armchair. There was a less-cushy armchair near her, as well, and Ginny figured that it was for guests and associates.

"Please, take a seat, Ginevra," Doru flashed her his fangs again as he closed the door behind him.

Ginny sat down promptly and nearly told him how much she detested being called by her full name. She stayed silent, instead, and looked around her more, taking in every detail and cataloguing the pieces of art that hung on the wall. They all looked like they were done by talented artists, and she recognized one that she had stolen from him the year before.

"You're quiet," he observed. "Most newly awakened are full of questions."

Ginny shrugged. "I figure all will be explained."

Doru's dark eyes continued to observe her and she felt as if she were an insect under a magnifying glass. She thought if he looked too closely, she might burn alive under the light. Finally, as if she had passed some sort of inspection, Doru smiled at her again.

"Well, let's get down to business. As your sire, I require your services in exchange for my deed."

"My services?" Ginny couldn't stop herself from asking incredulously. "Your deed? I didn't ask you for this life."

Now, Doru shrugged back at her. "I knew you needed me, too, Ginevra. You couldn't continue down that path and waste your talents, all numb and complacent."

She had been complacent, but she hadn't needed his help to get out of her slump. She wanted to shout and scream and cry and throw everything she could at Doru. She wanted to throttle him. She wanted him gone.

But here she was—she had to bide her time.

"I suppose you're right," she conceded. "What is it you require of me?"

"I want you to continue with what you were doing before. Helping me liberate great pieces of art and then recreating them."

Ginny gritted her teeth, knowing she had to bite her tongue. Her infamous Weasley temper, which had been absent for far too long, was rearing its head. She knew that if she were still human, her face would be turning an alarming shade of red. Luckily, it seemed that being undead could be advantageous in hiding an angry flush.

Ginny also knew that she would not be able to keep up the charade for much longer. She found herself hating every moment that she spent in the man's presence. She hadn't felt so filled with steel since she'd been at Hogwarts during the war. She no longer felt hopeless—she would have a plan soon, and then she would be gone from this godforsaken place forever.

Forever.

Merlin, that was a long time, when she considered the true length of it. Would she outlive all her friends and family? What would she do then? Travel the world and enjoy art, eat blood pops, and drink spiked wine? How dreary, she thought, to live that type of existence without someone by her side.

Ginny had begun to imagine by her side in all her future plans, but now she didn't see how that could be. She had finally had him in her reach, and Doru had taken it away all over again.

The anger nearly overtook Ginny again, but she fought to calm herself.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Doru asked her.

She supposed she had been silent for too long, so she replied, "Yes, sorry. I'm just thirsty, I think."

Doru nodded. "Yes, let's go grab some breakfast for ourselves. I have a veritable feast waiting upstairs for us."

Ginny wished her stomach had turned at the thought, but she mostly just felt excited, imagining how it would feel to have warm blood trickling down her throat again. She wondered if she could eat real food, too. She loved chocolate eclairs so much, and she hadn't had one in so long.

Finally, she voiced her thoughts. "Can we eat real food, too?"

He turned to look at her as he rose from his plush chair. "Yes, though I prefer a more liquid diet myself. I feed a little from someone each day to keep my powers strong."

Ginny nodded along. "Do you have any chocolate eclairs?"

He chuckled. "No, but Morana can fetch some when she wakes up from that nap you've made her take."

Ginny grinned a little, despite herself. "She had it coming."

"Perhaps so. Perhaps, she was just doing what I'd asked. But I must say, I've never had someone have that reaction to her before."

Shrugging, Ginny walked by his side up even more flights of stairs than they had taken down to the study. Good Merlin, she thought. Doru's manor had an even more convoluted layout than Hogwarts.

"Could I get a tour after breakfast?" she asked.

"So, you've become impatient for answers after all," Doru said. "It happens to everyone, eventually."

"Even you?" she asked.

"It's been so long I can't quite remember," he answered, dark eyes looking less cold than usual, but further away, as if cemented in the past. "My sire did not stay to answer any questions, so I am sure I figured this way of life myself."

"That must have been difficult," Ginny told him.

He looked at her and shrugged. "It must not have been too difficult. I have become who I was destined to be—a successful art connoisseur with a large family and many, many children."

Children wasn't the word Ginny would exactly use, but she bit her tongue. She almost felt sympathy for Doru but wasn't persuaded enough by the "heart-warming" story that he was weaving for her. She felt as if he may be manipulating her by telling her all of this, and she did not appreciate being manipulated.

She had been manipulated by Tom Riddle, who had woven stories of a sad life in the orphanage where he had been so lonely and none of the other children would befriend him because he had been different from them. She had learned her lesson with Tom, who had been charming and silver-tongued, and she had cottoned on that Doru was much the same.

Ginny Weasley was not someone to be manipulated.

She didn't say anything until they entered a grand dining room, where there were two witches and a wizard eating; on their plates were large piles of poached eggs, fruits, and toast. She looked between them and Doru, unable to voice her thoughts. There was again a dawning horror within her as she grasped onto what he had damned her to for eternity.

Constantly feeding from others, innocents—always a parasite.

Ginny wanted to throw a fit again but, somehow, she held it all together. She wasn't sure how she did it, except perhaps her experience lying to her brothers all her life.

"Are they breakfast?" Ginny finally asked, voice tiny.

"Yes, and they are here voluntarily," Doru explained. "They come to the manor and we provide food and shelter for them in return for what they can provide for them."

Ginny was beginning to realize that Doru was a fan of thinking he was a benevolent liege lord of the community—taking care of serfs, as he saw it. Really, though, she likened him more to some sort of fae, or puck, wheeling and dealing for his own entertainment and needs. She saw how dangerous he was—his charity led down a path from which one could not return.

She would end him, even if it was the last thing she did.

The thought of vengeance had never before tasted quite so sweet to Ginny Weasley.

**_Harry_ **

Harry paced and paced, nearly wearing a hole in the floor of the Ministry. All he could think was of the danger Ginny must be in, and what sort of peril she was being subjected to.

Her older brother, Ron Weasley, entered the room with Hermione then, both looking tired and worried. "Any news?" Ron asked Harry.

Harry shook his head wordlessly, continuing to pace.

"My mum is going spare," Ron explained. "She already knew before we told her. She has this clock, you see, and it keeps track of each of us kids, telling her where we are, if we're safe. Ginny's is exactly where Fred's is—"

Harry was having a hard time following what Ron was telling him. "It tells her exactly where you lot are?"

Ron shook his head. "No, just a general—like _work,_ or _school,_ or _home,_ or if we're presently in danger, like when the war was on, _mortal peril._ But Fred's, after he died, was on _traveling,_ and then after a while, _lost._ Mum never saw Ginny's move—she just woke up the morning we found the shop and it was on _lost,_ just like Fred's."

Did that mean that Ginny was dead?

It couldn't be—Harry refused to believe it. She had to be alive somewhere; he could no longer imagine a world without her laugh, or her jokes and impressions.

"Does _lost_ always mean dead?" he asked Ron, point-blank.

"No… sometimes, someone is actually lost. I got lost in Harrod's once with Hermione, and Mum went spare and called the cavalry."

That was something he could work with—someone else joined them in the Auror office. The footsteps didn't sound like anyone that Harry knew, so he looked up and saw that it was the wizard from the Potions Lab.

"What have you got?" Harry asked without greeting.

The wizard frowned but handed Harry a piece of parchment. "Here are the different components of the potions you turned in. It breaks down each magical compound and traces where each of the compounds originated—we have this registry, similar to the Muggles, of which well-known potions suppliers and dealers use which compounds and from where. As you can see here, this compound originates on Transylvania, and we only have one potions supplier who uses these compounds from that area—Doru Rabinovich, known also as Master Doru in criminal circles—he is also called The Vampire."

Harry and Neville both cursed while Hermione just paled.

"Not Rabinovich," Neville argued.

"Fuck—" Harry said. "What the bloody hell did she get herself into?"

"There's no telling, but I'll see if I can pull any information on him. Do you want to check with your C.I.?"

It was about time he caught up with Cho, Harry thought. He hadn't heard from her since he'd spoken with her the morning they'd found Ginny's shoe at the shop, and it wasn't like her to go radio-silent, as the Muggles would say. "That's a good idea," Harry told his partner. "I need to follow up with her on some other things—and she probably at least knows someone who knows someone who knows Rabinovich."

They bid each other farewell gruffly, leaving Ron and Hermione standing in the Auror offices, staring at each other in consternation.

Harry practically ran through the Ministry to the fireplaces, flooing straight to Cho's gallery. He didn't bother with their usual cloak and dagger, too wound up and not in the mood to wait for her at the dirty pub table, nursing something that he wished was stronger.

She was standing in the gallery when he arrived, showing a painting to a wealthy looking witch in elaborate robes.

"Harry—er, Mr. Potter," Cho said, gaping as he stepped through the grate. "Is there something I can help you with today, sir?"

The witch was gaping at him, as well, as if she'd never seen an Auror in a hurry before. "I need to speak to you urgently regarding some information you may have, Miss Chang," Harry said bruskly. "Is there an office we could speak in privately?"

Cho nodded and turned toward her client. "I am extremely sorry, Madame Lafevre. I have to help Mr. Potter, but I'll be back with you momentarily."

Madame Lafevre nodded at Cho in confusion, but Cho led him away, sensible (yet fashionable) heels clacking against the marble floors. "What's this about?" she whispered to him angrily. "You know we don't meet here for information."

"It really is urgent, Cho," he told her as he stopped her and held her still, hands on her shoulders. "We traced some evidence back to Doru Rabinovich in that missing persons case I was having you check on. Is there any other information you could give me regarding his whereabouts, or what his motives may be?"

At Rabinovich's name, Cho blanched. "No, I don't know anything about that," she told him flatly. "I should see you out."

"Cho," Harry said warningly, hand tightening on her shoulder. "You need to tell me what you know. Someone's life is in danger."

"It's a lost cause," Cho said. "You will only find the body—if he wants you to—or if there even is a body. I don't cross him, and I don't ever work with him."

"I understand, Cho, but I have to find the victim. Please tell me what you can."

She glanced around, looking primed to run away. "He's… the worst of the worst when it comes to the stolen art circle. His work is always exquisite and barely discernable as fraudulent to even the best authenticators, but his methods…" a shiver worked its way through her body so strongly that even Harry felt it. "No one crosses the Vampire."

"Fuck," Harry nearly shouted, barely controlling his volume. "Do you know where to find him?"

Cho shook her head, pretty hair waving back and forth with her movement. "I know where he'll be tomorrow night, but nothing beyond that."

"Where's that?"

"It's an underground auction and they will be selling _Last Year in Capri."_

"You didn't think to tell me about this auction?" he asked roughly, pushing her against the wall.

She whimpered. "I'm sorry—I only just got the invite and information from my colleague, Lucretia."

Harry let go of her. "Tell me where this auction is."

Cho told him, and Harry immediately apparated away, leaving Cho standing in the hallway of her gallery, shaking from head to toe.

Harry couldn't find it in himself to feel guilty about how he had treated his C.I.—she was his C.I. for a reason, and she couldn't seem to do her damned job. He was grumbling to himself as he made his way back up to his office at the Ministry, hoping that Longbottom would be there as well with information more useful than a fancy underground function.

Unfortunately, Neville hadn't found any previously listed addresses, or anything else that would help them locate Rabinovich, other than Ministry intel that had been logged into his file—mostly rumours of illegal dealings and reports that they had never been able to authenticate.

"So, we set up a sting, of sorts?" Neville asked.

Harry nodded grimly. "Yes. And I know the perfect person for the job."

Later that afternoon, Cho and Hermione stood before Harry, both looking extremely nervous.

"Do I have to do this, Harry?" Cho whinged.

"Yes," he told her gruffly. "All you have to do is act like she's an interested client who paid her way into the function like anyone else."

"Won't they recognize her?" Neville asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, we'll put a glamour on her. For all I care, we could make her look like Romilda Vane or Pansy Parkinson."

"Now, I don't think that's necessary," Hermione told them. "I'll be perfectly fine with a few glamours here and there to disguise my identity."

"Just remember that we cannot fuck this up," Harry said.

"They'll do fine, mate," Neville reassured, putting a hand on his shoulder, pulling him aside. "Are you alright? Do I need to have Robards pull you from the case?"

Harry shrugged out of Neville's touch. "No, I need to see this through. I can be clear-headed about this."

"Listen to me, Potter. If you bullocks this up because you're too involved, I will report you. And then, I'll kill you myself."

Harry nodded. "I'll be fine. I promise."

"If I see you losing your head, you're out."

"You've got it, Longbottom."

They turned back to Cho and Hermione, who had pulled a little mirror from somewhere—Hermione always seemed to be able to pull useful things out of absolutely nowhere—and were working on placing glamour charms on Hermione.

He had to hand it to the two witches—they were talented with their glamour charms. He would never have been able to tell it was Hermione under those charms, if he didn't know the way she sounded. "So, let's go over the plan one more time…"

Harry and Neville sat in their Auror tent in the trees outside the auction, watching on the screen as Hermione and Cho entered the function. It was a useful little invention from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes that the Ministry had snatched up almost as soon as it hit the shelves—a small camera that could be disguised as a flower or a piece of jewelry that took so many pictures they came out like film. Hermione was wearing the camera on a necklace that had looked extremely expensive once she had paired it with her gala robes.

She was also wearing a hair piece that was a new updated version of their Extendable Ears. It sent the sounds from where the piece was to a radio. Harry wondered how they could come up with so many interesting, progressive inventions, but no one could invent a digital camera.

"It's amazing—" he began.

"Please don't start about digital cameras again, Potter," Neville interrupted. "We can save that discussion for our next case."

Harry grumbled but agreed with his partner. He did need to pay attention to the event.

"There's the Vampire," he heard Cho tell Hermione softly. He paid attention to everything they heard from there on out. Cho and Hermione made their way around the room, making boring small talk as they worked the room. It turned out that Hermione had a lot to contribute to conversations about famous art pieces, and it became evident that there was quite a lot of curiosity about what new pieces would be unveiled that evening.

Finally, they met Rabinovich. "We'll need to be careful," Cho warned. "We don't want to seem too interested, but we also don't want to appear rude or uncouth."

"Why, if it isn't the glorious Cho Chang," he heard the monster greet. "And who is your friend?"

"Master Doru, this is my friend Cassandra Black. She's extremely interested in purchasing something tonight."

There was a slight shuffling, and Harry couldn't hear what was going on, and then, finally, everything came back into perfect clarity. "Well, good luck, ladies. Enjoy your night."

"Damn, we missed most of that," Neville complained.

"We'll have to find out what happened afterward and check the film once it's developed at the Ministry."

Harry nodded in agreement with his partner and continued to listen as the auction began. They waited for quite a while before _Last Year in Capri_ was announced. Hermione bid on the piece, which had started at a high price. Even higher than it had been valued at by the Ministry of Magic when the theft had first happened. Apparently, notoriety had made it even more coveted.

She was in a bidding war with some wizard that Harry couldn't catch the name of. Finally, the wizard gave up and Hermione won the bid. Harry had begun to sweat anxiously as the battle had waged, so he was quite relieved that their operation wouldn't be ruined.

"Okay, I think it's go time," Harry told Neville.

Neville spoke into the lapel of his Auror robes, "Operation _Vampire_ is a go," he told their team.

Harry and Neville emerged from their tent, magically folding it and shrinking it to fit into one of their pockets and making their way to the front doors.

"Excuse me, sir, you can't go in there," a poshly-dressed witch told them.

"You see these robes and this badge?" Harry asked. "We'll go anywhere we please."

They had their smoking wand, so they didn't need a warrant.

As soon as their hit team made an appearance, the auction floor turned into complete bedlam. Witches and wizards were attempting to apparate out, finding that the wards wouldn't allow for it. Then, they all began to run about. Harry made his way straight to Rabinovich, who was watching the scene with a serene curiosity.

Harry took in the appearance of the famed Vampire, finding that he understood why he was called such. He certainly looked like one: his skin was pallid, his black eyes were deep and fathomless, and he had a strange smile on his face that filled Harry with a sense of hatred he hadn't felt for years.

He knew the face of evil when he saw it.

"I was wondering when you would show up, Mister Potter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Harry has found out a bit more of what's going on with Ginny, as well as Master Doru. Do you think he'll be able to get to her through him?


	14. chapter 13: awakening

_**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: AWAKENING** _

Ginny was biding her time—she had been made aware that Doru would be leaving the manor tonight, and this would be her only chance to escape. She had proven to Morana that she could overpower her, but she still didn't trust that the witch would not try anything. She had shown herself to be extremely loyal to Doru's cause, and Ginny had learned long ago not to underestimate insane disciples of Dark Lords.

She listened for the sounds of movement in the manor, the flurry of activity unusual for what would usually pass for normal. Doru had them all busy preparing him and the art he would be bringing. Ginny had used the last few days to finish the fraudulent copy of _Last Year in Capri_ , and to plan.

She watched as Doru's car left the estate through the wrought-iron gates. Now was finally her chance. She grabbed her wand that she could no longer use and made her way through the corridors, somehow knowing in her heart that this wasn't the last time she would be in this wretched hall—she would return here once more.

For once, her luck held up and her escape went unnoticed. She knew the most important thing would be to put distance between herself and the manor for now, but she didn't know where to go now that she couldn't Apparate. She supposed she could follow the road to the nearest town and find a train station to take her to London, and from there to either the Ministry or Harry's flat.

Ginny knew she didn't owe him an explanation for her disappearance, and she certainly didn't expect him to be able to help her with her predicament, but she wanted to say goodbye.

Well, _want_ wasn't really the word, she amended. She needed to say goodbye to him. She couldn't be with him, or anyone in her family. It would hurt them too much to see her _undead._

Ginny ran as far as her feet would allow her, until she reached the nearest town. The town looked entirely too sleepy for her liking. Finally, after walking the streets, she found a pub where she'd be able to stop and ask directions. She opened the door to riotous noise and found that a majority of the Muggles in the pub were focused on the tellyvision, where a bunch of men were playing football.

Many were yelling at the screen, and it reminded Ginny of watching her brothers listening to Quidditch on the wireless. She swallowed back the lump in her throat at the thought that she would never get to do so with her brothers again. She would never hear them arguing about their favourite teams, and whose team was better, again.

Ginny focused on the task at hand: getting directions to a train station. And maybe figuring out Muggle currency—she only had one Galleon on her.

She approached the bartender, a Muggle woman who looked quite sporty in a black vest top and extremely bored of her night. "That bad of a night?"

"Well, you know how it is," the woman told her. "You're either a piece of meat, or you're invisible around this lot. What can I get for you?"

Her life, Ginny thought, would be great. Instead she said, "I actually just needed directions to the nearest train station."

The bartender gave her a scrutinizing look but said, "I can give you directions, but if you needed to leave before morning, you'd have better luck with a cab."

Ginny felt her hopes fall. "I don't think I have enough money for the cab fare to London from here," she explained. "And I've got nowhere to go until morning here."

The bartender was looking her over again strangely and then glanced at her watch. "If you hurry, the last train is leaving in about ten minutes. But it's a fifteen-minute drive from here to there."

"I'll give it a shot," Ginny said, knowing it was her only chance. Perhaps she had vampire speed? It had taken her a fair amount of time to run from Doru's manor to town.

The bartender gave her the directions and wished her luck. Ginny stepped out into the night, which she suspected was chilly by the frost that was beginning to cover the ground and took off running in the direction that the bartender had told her the station would be. If only she had a broomstick, she thought as she ran, or if she could Apparate, she could have already been gone ages ago.

She made it to the station, not a bit out of breath. The ticket window attendee looked like they were about close for the night, so she shouted out to them, hoping they'd hear her from across the room. She sprinted towards him, seeing his look of surprise. "Please don't close," she begged. "I have got to get to London tonight."

He glanced at the clock, and she wondered if Muggles were fond of doing that as he turned back to her. He clicked away on the keyboard for his conpuder, and said, "It looks like you're in luck. It's running a bit behind and I've plenty of tickets to spare. The train will only take you to Euston—hope that works alright."

"Anywhere in London is fine," she told him. "How much is it?"

He told her and Ginny frankly had no idea what it meant. "This is all I've got," she said, holding up her Galleon. "It's real gold," she told him.

He took it and examined it. She prayed it would be enough money as he stared intensely at it. Ginny wasn't sure if he decided that it would work, or he took pity on her, but he gave her a ticket and told her to hurry to the platform.

"Thank you so much, sir!" Thank Merlin, too, she thought as she made her way to the platform where a few Muggles were also waiting.

She waited impatiently for the train to arrive, wishing she was already in London. If she wasn't a vampire, she thought, she could have Apparated straight to Harry's flat or the Ministry of Magic, or _wherever the fuck she wanted._ But, Ginny thought some more and realized that she couldn't just waltz into the Ministry—not when she was a vampire. Magical Creatures and Beings had to have special dispensation and go through a select screening process to allow them into the wizarding governmental building.

What a bleeding ridiculous statement, Ginny thought angrily as she boarded the train. She was a vampire. Surely this all had to be a nightmare, or some strange and cruel prank from George? This couldn't truly be her life now. She had so many things she had wanted to do.

She cursed her circumstances, and the series of events that had led her to this exact moment. She wanted to cry, but she had to be strong. She had no idea what she would do once she reached London, or where she would live, or who she even was without her magic. All she knew was that she wanted to repay Doru for his hand in her misfortune.

She realized, as she thought and thought about everything that had happened in her life in the last few years, that he had been the catalyst for the chain of events that had transpired.

When her train finally arrived at Euston Station, Ginny realized she needed money in order to get to Harry's flat. Hopefully, he would be there, as it was the middle of the night, she reasoned. She ran to her own flat, up the stairs, and nearly shouted the password at her door.

When she opened the door, she found her flat a mess. The box where she'd stashed her potions was out on the floor, wide open and empty. A new feeling of horror dawning within her, Ginny examined everything that was amiss. Someone had to have figured out what she had been up to before she'd been abducted—all of Ginny's dirty secrets: her secret shame, her weakness, her pain she'd kept hidden.

The pamphlet for the curse-breaking school she'd been taking classes with was thrown on the bed. With a roar of anger, she tore it apart. She would never be able to go back to those classes and she would never be a curse-breaker. All her dreams and hopes were dashed, and now all she had left was an eternity in front of her without magic.

Ginny took a few deep breaths, calming her anger before she rooted about for her money. It was one of the few things left untouched, she found. Thank Merlin, Ginny thought. She cast one last look about her small flat and said goodbye to the life she'd been leading.

It was time to look to the future instead of the past and what could have been.

She hailed a passing cab as she stepped onto the street. The driver gave her a strange look as she stepped into the cab, though he didn't question her when she told him the general area of Harry's flat. She hoped she'd be able to find it wandering the streets. They drove for a while, as Harry's flat was on the very outskirts of London, much closer to the suburbs than her own flat.

It was a hefty cab fee, she realized when they arrived, but she just handed him the right number of pounds and pence and went about her way. She wandered the streets slowly for an hour or so before she found a building that she was almost certain was Harry's. She walked up the stairs and knocked on the door, even more confident after seeing the interior of the building.

There was no answer.

 _Fuck_ thought Ginny. What was the plan now? Harry had to either leave his flat or come home eventually, she realized, so she would wait right outside the door. Even better for her that there were no windows inside the corridor, so she didn't have to worry about the sun rising soon.

She took a seat on the floor next to his door and sat still as she waited. She didn't feel the need to fidget as she once had, something that was more a bother than a relief. She drifted into an unsteady sleep as she waited for Harry.

Ginny only had hazy dreams of shadowy figures and pale potions pouring down her throat. She began to choke on them, waking herself up. She glanced around as she heard footsteps trudging up the stairs. If only she could make herself invisible, she worried.

To her luck, it was Harry that came around the corner.

"Ginny?" he asked, eyes widening in relief.

She jumped up and ran to hug him, feeling the first sense of relief she'd had since Doru's man had taken her from the shop.

"I missed you," she told him.

"How'd you escape?" Harry asked into her hair. "I didn't think anyone could escape Rabinovich."

She pulled away and looked into Harry's eyes. His green eyes widened in alarm at what he saw, and he pulled away quickly, mouth aghast. "You can't be Ginny," he whispered.

Ginny bit her lip, her fangs almost drawing blood. "It's me," she told him, reaching toward him. Harry backed away further for a moment before he straightened his back in determination.

"Come into my flat," he invited her. "And we can talk."

Ginny nodded, hair falling into her face like a curtain. Harry unlocked his door with a Muggle key and motioned for her to follow him. She felt a strange sort of sensation envelope her, making her feel much more welcome than she'd felt before.

Everything in his flat looked more vibrant than it had before. Harry immediately made his way to his kitchenette and grabbed a kettle, filling it with water before he placed it on the hob. "Vampires can still drink tea, right?" he asked.

"I'm fairly certain that we can," she said uncertainly. "But to be honest, I haven't tried."

Harry nodded at her and pulled out some loose leaves and an infuser. "Come sit with me," he invited her to his little table. They had rarely sat at the table, as it was usually covered with mail. Now, he cleared it all away, vanishing the mail somewhere else. "Any biscuits or snacks?" he asked.

"I'm alright, thanks," she told him.

Harry nodded again and began to pace about the kitchenette. The room was so small that his pacing meant more laps than it usually would. Every few moments, he would run his hand through his unkempt hair and grunt something unintelligible to even Ginny's vampiric hearing.

After what seemed like an eternity to Ginny (if that had lasted so long, she couldn't imagine how long the actual eternity in front of her would feel), the kettle finally began to whistle and billow steam. He poured the boiling water into the teapot with the infuser and grabbed some milk and honey, along with two cups.

Finally, when the tea was finished steeping, Harry poured it into their cups and asked, "So, what happened?"

Ginny recounted her tale to Harry, telling him of how she'd been leaving George's shop that night, how Doru's man had taken her by surprise, and how he had seemed to be impossibly strong and quick. She told Harry how she had awoken in Doru's manor house in Staffordshire, and how he had come in and changed her against her will.

"I know that I put myself in a dangerous situation," she told him. "By now, I'm assuming it was you in my flat, and that you know about the potions."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I can't say I wasn't surprised."

Ginny shook her head, hair moving with her head. "I wish it hadn't been so. I wish I hadn't gotten into that situation, nor become dependent on those pain potions after my accident. It seemed almost too easy, that Morana—Doru's adopted daughter—had appeared with exactly what I needed when I was trying to salvage my career."

"Sadly, it _was_ too convenient," Ginny explained. She bit her lip again, thinking for a moment. "They roped me into stealing those pieces of art and replicating them in return for the potions."

"And the rune?" Harry asked.

" _Nyd_? A moment of emotional desperation. I didn't know if I could keep going, but I was already in far too deep. And then… I met you. And you know, everything that happened between us… Before I realized that you were the one working my theft. That was when I disappeared."

Harry nodded. "I want to help you, Gin. I promise, I will help you in any way possible."

Ginny shook her head again, her emotions rising up within her chest against her will. "The only thing I want now is to avenge my own life." _And you,_ she thought hungrily, looking at Harry. A heat was building quickly within her as she took the sight of him in and remembered how he felt inside her.

Would he want her like this? She wondered.

He didn't leave her wondering for too long, as he leaned toward her and pulled her face to his roughly. Harry bit her lip roughly, hands roving her body. She gasped, wetness already beginning to seep through her knickers.

"Harry," she whispered against his neck, fighting the urge to bite his neck. She pulled her lips away from his neck rubbed her hand against his hardness, wanting it inside her. Harry's hips thrust against her hand and Ginny shoved her hand down his trousers, rubbing his velvety hardness up and down, smearing his pre-cum around the head of his penis.

He groaned again, bucking against her. "I need you inside me," she told him. He picked her up and took her to the sofa, where he sat her down beneath him and pulled her trousers and knickers down her legs all at once, throwing them somewhere in the sitting room. Ginny didn't care where—she just wanted Harry to keep touching her.

He placed a kiss to her thigh, and then licked her clit.

"Fuck, Harry," Ginny said. "That feels so good."

Everything seemed even more intense now than it had been the last time they had joined.

Harry spread Ginny's legs further apart and gave her another long lick before his tongue was inside her and she was entangling her fists into his hair, unconsciously tugging his head into her opening, brain misfiring from the sensation. Merlin, she was soaking his sofa, she thought briefly before he did a particularly spectacular thing with his tongue that caused her legs to tremble around Harry's head, back arching and a moan escaping her mouth.

Harry kissed his way up her belly, removing her bra and blouse, suckling on her breast as Ginny reached down and took his cock into her hand. She rubbed it up and down, already imagining what it would feel like once he was inside of her. Burning with a hunger for him, she began to position him at her entrance. "Can I have you inside me?" she asked hungrily.

"Yes," Harry moaned out.

He thrust into her opening and Ginny immediately moaned as his length sheathed itself in her.

"Yes," she groaned out, panting as he began to thrust in and out, sac slapping against her arse as he hammered.

"Oh, yes," she said again. "You feel so good, love," she told Harry.

He moaned in response and brought a hand to her clit as he took her breast back into his mouth, biting and suckling on the pale skin until a mark appeared. Harry looked proudly at it for a moment and Ginny bucked up against him, needing more friction.

He began to thrust faster, hitting the perfect spot inside her as he played with her clit. Ginny was becoming unraveled, now, back arching and a stream of words she couldn't keep track of leaving her mouth as she finally, finally, fell off the cliff again and began to pulse around Harry's cock. Harry thrust a few more times, sloppily kissing Ginny on her lips before he pulsated within her, warm cum filling her insides.

His eyes squeezed shut and she watched, spent, as he came inside her. She thought she might be able to go for another round, though she understood that Harry wouldn't be able to right away.

"That was fucking amazing," she finally panted out. "There are no words."

He nodded tiredly. "Want to go lay in the bed?" Ginny asked. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Can't remember," he answered.

"Let's go," she ordered, pushing Harry off her and pulling him to his bedroom.

Harry fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow and Ginny took a warm shower before she crawled back into bed with Harry. His body immediately pulled her into an embrace, and his legs tangled together with hers. With the first sense of peace she'd felt since she was human, Ginny fell asleep in Harry's arms.

When she woke, it was light out through the curtains. She turned to look at Harry, only to find he was already awake. She kissed him gently, hand finding Harry's bum and squeezing it as she pulled his body against hers.

"I want you again," she told him. Harry's eyes were full of desire, too, and his penis was already fully erect. She played with it for a moment, stroking him. He hardened further under her ministrations, and then he sheathed himself in her gently, finding that Ginny was already wet and ready for him.

Harry groaned against her mouth and kissed her again as he thrust in and out slowly. They made love gently, this time. Harry taking his time to explore her body all over again.

"Gin," he said, her name on his lips making Ginny even wetter around him. He placed his thumb over her clit and she came undone. With a moan, Harry came inside of her as soon as he felt her flutter around him.

Ginny kissed his neck sloppily and then kissed Harry on the lips, coming down from her orgasmic high. "Fancy a shower?" she asked.

He nodded and they kissed again before he pulled out of Ginny. Her legs were strangely shaky as they walked to the bathroom. While Harry used the toilet, Ginny turned on the water, setting it to hot immediately. He followed her into the shower shortly after she'd stepped in, giving her a heavy kiss.

Tenderly, Harry began to wash Ginny's back, lathering the soap against her pale and freckled skin. His hands on her skin relaxed Ginny and for the first time in days, she felt as if everything could be alright.

She washed Harry in turn before she wet her hair and shampooed it.

"I love how your hair goes from copper to auburn when it's wet," Harry told her, kissing her on the cheek and pinching her bum.

Ginny smiled at him softly without saying anything for a few moments. Then, she said, "We should probably talk about what's going to happen next."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," said Ginny. "Are we going to go after Doru? And what about me?"

"What about you?" Harry asked.

"I'm a fucking vampire, that's what!" Ginny told him. "It's not like we can keep carrying on like we were when I was a normal witch."

"We'll figure something out," Harry promised, rinsing the shampoo out of his own hair. "After we get Rabinovich. There's a lot of strange magic out there—I've seen things I didn't think possible. If there's a way to turn you back to human, we'll find it. Or, we'll make things work if we can't change you back."

Ginny really thought that if there were a way to turn vampires back into humans, it would have been discovered ages ago, but she didn't voice her thoughts. She rinsed the conditioner out of her hair and then wrung out the excess water. "I'm going to get out," she told Harry, planting a chaste kiss on his shoulder.

He nodded. "I'm going to sit under the water for a moment then I'll be out as well."

Ginny grabbed what she had come to think of as _her_ towel since she'd began to date Harry officially and wrapped it around her body as she stepped down and out of the bathtub.

She grabbed Harry's comb and ran it through her own hair, luxuriating in the feeling. She hadn't taken the best care of herself since she'd been taken by Doru and now she wanted every single knot combed out of her hair. It seemed a simple thing, but she realized now what a luxury it was.

"Ouch," she muttered.

"Alright?" Harry asked as he turned off the shower tap and stepped out.

"Yeah, thanks," she replied. "My hair is just filled with knots."

Harry made a face, and said, "I know what that's like."

She stuck her tongue out at him, disturbed by the way her tongue scraped against her fangs.

"Once we get some clothes on, we should talk strategy," Harry suggested.

"Agreed. Will we be getting anyone on board besides the two of us?"

Harry's face looked thoughtful. "I'd like Neville to help, and maybe Ron and Hermione if they'd be up for it."

"I guess Ron could be decent—he's a chess master, and he was also one of the leaders of Dumbledore's Army at Hogwarts."

"I know—I ran a background check on him after I found him and Hermione shagging."

"That's gross," Ginny said. "But he could be good. I trust Ron with my life, and not just because he's my brother. He fought in a few battles in the war, so he can hold his own. Hermione too, before she had to go on the run from the Muggle-born registration committee."

Ginny pulled on a sweatshirt she found in Harry's wardrobe. "Hey!" he said, smiling widely.

"It's comfy," she defended herself, pulling on a pair of his pants. "And so are your pants. But I don't need any trousers, thanks."

"I wasn't going to offer," Harry replied, shaking his head in exasperation.

She stuck her tongue out at him again. "Git," Ginny said warmly.

"Witch," Harry replied fondly.

Ginny couldn't help but give Harry a chaste kiss before she sauntered into his sitting room. "Let's plan," she said, plopping gracefully onto the dining chair.

_ **G &H** _

On the morning of the raid, Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and Neville met up at Neville's house, where Hannah had prepared them a hearty breakfast. She didn't seem entirely happy, but she still seemed willing to help feed them anyway.

"Food is Hannah's way of showing she cares," Neville confided to Harry quietly when Hannah had left the room to fetch more coffee for Harry and Neville.

Everyone was quiet and contemplative as they ate pancakes and a veg-hash with bacon. The silence reminded Ginny of those awful years she'd spent at Hogwarts, when Dumbledore's Army had had to hide in the Chamber of Secrets. Merlin, she thought. She hated that place—but it had come in handy keeping them all safe and hidden from the Death Eaters who had replaced the Carrows.

"Are we all ready?" she asked, breaking the silence.

Harry glanced up from the coffee that Hannah had just placed in front of him. "Ready as we'll ever be, I'd imagine."

Neville nodded from next to him and Ron continued to shovel in food while Hermione picked at her own breakfast.

"I'm sorry for dragging you all into this," Ginny apologized. "If I hadn't been so stupid…"

"Don't do that, Ginny," Ron said, having just finished a bite of pancake. "This wanker needs to be finished off anyway, with the way he's been carrying on."

"He's right, Ginny," Hermione agreed. "It was only a matter of time before the Ministry caught on to what he was up to."

"Aren't any of you worried about your jobs?" Ginny asked. "You know the Ministry of Magic wouldn't sanction this raid on Doru's estate."

"They might not approve, exactly, but they'll gladly rake in the confiscated artefacts that we'll alert them to when everything is done."

"Okay," Ginny agreed nervously. "Let's go over our plan again…"


	15. Chapter 14: raid

_**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: RAID** _

The air in Staffordshire was frosty when Harry and Ginny Apparated into the town near Rabinovich's manor house. Harry could see his breath billowing into the air and he fought back the shiver trying to seize his muscles. He heard the soft pops of Ron, Hermione, and Neville Apparating nearby.

Ginny was under Harry's invisibility cloak to protect her from the sun's rays, though Harry wasn't sure how much protection she needed with such an overcast sky. Still, he didn't want to take any more chances with Ginny's life than they had to. "Alright?" he asked them all.

Everyone nodded, and they all began to disillusion themselves.

"Remember the plan," Harry whispered to Ginny's invisible form.

He heard the cloak swish slightly and assumed she was nodding. "I've got it," Ginny reminded him quietly, voice tense.

He had noticed that her moods had become much more mercurial since she had been changed, and he wasn't sure if it was a reaction to her trauma from the event or just the vampirism. He had heard that vampires could be quite moody, so perhaps it was the change to her body that had caused it.

Harry didn't want anything to go wrong—he didn't know if he could forgive himself if any of the others were hurt in this endeavor. He'd never led anyone in this type of setting—Sirius and Remus had fought to keep him behind the scenes of the war, and Harry hadn't seen many battles until that last year after Sirius' cousin Bellatrix had murdered him in cold blood. Remus had been too beside himself to keep Harry from what he'd seen as his duty.

Harry shook his head at himself to get his thoughts focused on the task at hand. Hopefully, it would be a simple raid.

They approached the manor house and Harry's eyes widened at the sight in front of him. It reminded him rather too much of Malfoy Manor, where he had been kept for a week after being captured upon Sirius' death.

It was an impressive, foreboding home. The gardens, too, looked impressive through the iron fence. "This is it," Ginny whispered.

"Let's get to our assigned places," Harry told them all as quietly as he could while still being heard.

He heard the muffled shuffling of their feet in the damp leaves on the ground and then when Harry was almost completely sure they were in position, he gave the signal.

First, Harry checked to see if there were any curses on the fence. "A little cocky," he muttered, grinning.

He began to scale the fence, scrabbling as quickly as he could until he reached the top, dropping down into a low crouch into the overgrown garden. He peered about, making sure that no one was hidden or lurking before he made his way to the escape route that Ginny had told him about.

It had been something Ginny had used once with Morana when she'd been coming to the manor as a human and had only been shown the exit once because there had been someone lurking about—or at least, Ginny had said, Morana had told her. Whatever the reason, it came in handy now. It was hidden behind the statue of a manticore and it would allow him to step down into an underground tunnel that could only open from the inside.

Harry travelled through the tunnel and at the end found the latch on a small door that resembled some sort of drain. He fumbled with the latch for a moment before opening it.

"Alright?" he asked his companions.

He felt a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment and waited until he stopped feeling anyone walking by him before closing it behind him lightly—not locking it—and following the echoing footsteps through the passage.

This was where their plan got complicated. They'd each break off in their own directions, except Harry and Ginny. Ginny would remove Harry's invisibility cloak, and that would allow them entrance through the front door of the manor when whoever opened the door saw it was her.

"Got your other cloak?" Harry asked as he cancelled his disillusionment charm on himself.

Ginny removed the invisibility cloak, appearing seemingly out of thin air as she handed it to him and pulled a shrunken version of her own winter cloak out of her pockets. Harry enlarged it to its original size for her and she donned the heavy garment, pulling the black hood up around her fiery hair.

Harry couldn't help but stop and admire her form—she was a striking vision, her flaming hair bright against the dark velvety material of her cloak, face half-hidden in the shadows of the hood. He could only see her almost-glowing eyes and her lips, now redder than they'd been in life, fangs sticking out as she smirked at him.

Harry wasn't sure what it was about the way she was holding her mouth that turned him on, but he had to force himself to focus on the task at hand, rather than how she'd feel wrapped around his cock, slick and warm… _Focus, Potter,_ he chastised himself.

Shaking his head of the tempting thoughts, Harry stuffed the invisibility cloak away in his pocket, marveling at the size of wizard pockets compared to those of Muggle clothing. Truly wondrous, he thought for a moment before he once again focused.

He pulled Ginny into his arms and tilted her face up to his. "Ginny…" he wasn't sure what to say, so many different words were floating around in his mind. Their lips met in the middle, and Harry's insides squirmed as his mind lit up electrifyingly. He needed for both of them to survive this fight. Harry didn't know what he'd do if Rabinovich outsmarted them yet again.

Harry had to stop himself from stroking Ginny's body, pulling away from her painfully.

"Let's do this," he told her roughly.

Ginny nodded at him, eyes dark with attraction, and maybe, Harry imagined, blood lust.

Her hood had fallen back as they had kissed, so she pulled it back up and over her hair once again, and Harry disillusioned himself once again before they exited the tunnel.

As Harry and Ginny traversed the gardens, he peered about, cataloging his surroundings. The gardens were absolutely resplendent—overgrown ferns, rosebushes, and white hydrangea bushes seemed to be overtaking many of the statues and fountains. It reminded Harry of something from a Muggle movie set.

It was as if Rabinovich took a perverse pleasure in death and decay intermixed with decadence. He had to hand it to the vampire: the man had a very particular sense of style.

Ginny knocked on the large front door loudly, body tense underneath her cloak. Harry felt similarly—their plan hinged on Harry entering with Ginny undetected. Finally, the door opened, revealing a witch who Harry imagined had to be Morana, based off the description that Ginny had provided.

Morana didn't look happy to see Ginny, either. She said something as she scowled at Ginny, and he could tell by the bob of her hood that she'd replied to Morana, but he didn't know what it was they were saying. Harry tried to convince himself that he didn't need to know the words exchanged, but he had been taught throughout his life to gather all possible information and analyze it carefully—Remus had taught him so, saying it was the key to good defence.

There was nothing to be done for it, Harry told himself. As Morana finally let Ginny in, he followed closely behind her, careful not to brush against Morana accidentally. As he stepped into the manor for the first time, Harry had to stop and gape.

It reminded him too much of Malfoy manor—but the art was better, at least. There seemed to be a draft in the manor, and he imagined that the stone walls and floors must be freezing this late in the autumn. The sconces on the walls gave off minimum light, creating an eerie ambience. _What a fitting home for an old vampire,_ Harry thought sardonically.

Ginny shrugged off her heavy cloak and handed it to Morana to take. Morana looked annoyed but took the cloak from Ginny and began to lead her down a corridor.

He followed Ginny and Morana as they made their way to what he guessed would be the drawing room. They twisted and turned down dark corridors and down a set of spiral stairs before they arrived in the large room, filled to the brim with opulent antiques and lavish rugs.

Maybe crime _did_ pay.

Ginny took a seat on the sofa near the fireplace, sitting more still than he'd ever seen her. It was so strange to see her as an undead being, having known her when she'd been so full of life and happiness. It wasn't that Ginny wasn't capable of happiness now, but there had been a vibrancy within her that Harry couldn't see now.

Morana left the drawing room and Harry stood in a corner, hoping to stay as nondescript under his disillusionment charm as possible. After what seemed like ages, he heard soft footsteps approaching in a nearby corridor and he stood more on guard, listening for whoever was making their way to greet Ginny.

As Rabinovich traipsed into the room, Ginny stood up—Harry suspected her action was borne out of some habit.

"Ginevra, you came back," Rabinovich smiled.

Ginny grinned weakly back at her sire, face somehow appearing paler to Harry in the light of the flames from the hearth.

"I came to apologize, Master Doru," Ginny said.

Harry's stomach twisted at her words, disgusted that Rabinovich dare require those around him to call him _master._

"I was wrong," Ginny continued on. "I shouldn't have fled. You provide a safe place for me here, and this should be my home."

Rabinovich raised an eyebrow at her and Harry worried that she may have laid it on too thick until Rabinovich smiled at her and said, "Why, Ginevra, all can be forgiven."

"It can?" Ginny looked hopeful and Harry silently applauded his girlfriend's acting skills.

"Yes," Rabinovich answered. "All you'll need to do is help me with another acquisition…"

This part was critical for Harry. To be able to legally search the manor, he needed for Rabinovich to say the magic words.

And that he did. When he'd detailed exactly what he wanted Ginny to steal, Harry revealed himself.

"Doru Rabinovich, you are under arrest for dealing in illegal potions and international art theft."

"Why, hello, Mr. Potter," Rabinovich greeted. "I'd wondered when you were going to reveal yourself. Long time, no see, as they say."

Rabinovich was grinning at Harry cockily, fangs flashing as he talked.

"Turn around and place your hands behind your back," Harry told Rabinovich.

Rabinovich, predictably, did not listen to Harry. Rather, he laughed at the order. "Now, why would I do that?"

"Because the Ministry doesn't take kindly to either one of those crimes we'll be convicting you for, and if you come quietly, you might get a lighter sentence."

"I answer to no Ministry of Magic, nor any humans, Mr. Potter," Rabinovich's voice turned frosty and Harry wondered if it was his imagination when he felt the room get ten degrees colder around him.

Harry would be lying if he'd said that he'd hoped it wouldn't come to this. He'd been spoiling for a true fight. What Rabinovich had done to Ginny had ignited a fire within him that Harry hadn't felt since the war. It was a strange anger that only a few things could incite in him, but his wrath was mighty.

"I was hoping you'd say that, Rabinovich," Harry grinned honestly at the vampire. "I so would like to end you."

Rabinovich laughed, cold and high, reminding Harry too much of Voldemort.

Something within him snapped and Harry shot a spell off before he'd even processed that his wand had made its way to his hand. It was a red spell—a basic stunning spell.

Harry wasn't sure what would happen next—he'd never fought a vampire before, nor had he thought that he would ever do so. Generally, the vampire race had become peaceful in the last two-hundred years; apparently this wanker was the exception.

He prayed that wherever Ron, Hermione, and Neville were, they were taking care of Rabinovich's henchmen.

Rabinovich was in front of Harry in mere seconds, snarling, fangs flashing as his hands made to grab at Harry. Harry ducked beneath Rabinovich's grasp, hitting the floor and rolling away from the vampire.

Harry saw a flash of spellfire fly over his shoulder and turned to look in the direction as quickly as he could afford. It was Morana, wand in hand.

"Harry, you get her, and I'll take care of that arsehole," Ginny told him through gritted teeth, her own fangs sinking into her lower lip and drawing a bit of blood.

Harry was hesitant to listen to her but knew that Ginny would be better suited fighting against Rabinovich with her own vampire instincts, while he could duel Morana with magic.

"Okay!" Harry called, turning towards Morana, hoping Ginny was on her guard as she turned to face Rabinovich.

"So, you're the boytoy that lured her away from us," Morana smiled at Harry, twirling her wand in her hand blithely.

Harry inclined his head towards the witch. "Guilty. And you're the witch who drugged her and stole her life from her."

Morana continued to smile, unconcerned with Harry's words. Harry decided he needed to go on the offence, as Morana seemed content to taunt him. It almost reminded him of a night, long ago, with Sirius and Bellatrix. No, this was nothing like that night, Harry told himself as he shot an incarcerous spell at Morana.

She lightly dodged to the side of the spell, shooting back her own curse that Harry didn't recognize. He had to admit that she was a good dueler; Rabinovich had probably provided her the best tutors.

He shot another spell at the ground in front of Morana, intending to trip her into a second spell he sent just a second after the first. Her shield spell was too quick, and Harry cursed inwardly.

Morana grinned at him. "Is the great Harry Potter just made up of local folklore?"

Harry cursed aloud and sent another stunning spell at her, quickly followed by the leg-locker curse and then the _levicorpus_ hex. He wouldn't use lethal force until Morana used it first—he simply couldn't allow himself to do so.

Morana threw her shield up, but took the brunt of the last hex he'd cast. She hadn't expected three spells in a row.

She was hoisted by her feet into the air. Angrily, she quickly muttered the counter-curse as Harry had been preparing to stun her.

She dropped from the air, rolling onto the ground and under his stunning spell.

"Fuck," Harry grunted.

Morana grinned at him again and he grew angrier at her for a moment before he realized that she was attempting to goad him into losing his concentration.

He needed to up the ante.

" _Bates mocos!"_ Harry shouted. Ginny had once told him that it was her favourite hex, and he cast this specific one in her honour.

Morana hadn't expected his hex to be so strong, the bogey-coloured hex ripping through the shield she'd hastily erected. Bat-bogeys began to fly out her face and Morana let out a screech that hurt Harry's ears.

Taking a tiny amount of pity on the witch, Harry shot a stunner at her. Morana crumpled to the ground. He could hear Ginny and Rabinovich still grappling behind him, but he could not allow himself to be distracted before he sent Morana off, tied up to the Ministry of Magic. He attached his prisoner portkey to her and touched the middle, muttering the incantation quietly before turning to watch Ginny and Rabinovich.

It was strangely like watching poetry—very violent poetry, Harry thought. Ginny and Rabinovich were fighting in a style that Harry would normally describe as animalistic—graceful and instinctive, but positively vicious. Their fangs were flashing, and they were hissing as they circled each other, knees bent, their centers of gravity low as they each waited for a moment before Ginny took the initiative and leapt at Rabinovich once again.

She swiped at him with a fist, her teeth leading the way towards his neck. He wasn't sure if she knew what she was doing, but he imagined that she must have had some sort of instinct leading her, as he had never seen her move in quite this way before. Then again, he'd never seen Ginny fight before at all. He wondered if she'd always been so skilled, or if it was something inherent in her newfound nature as a vampire.

Harry realized that he'd never done much research into vampires, beyond how to kill them or subdue them as needed.

Ginny's fist connected with Rabinovich's jaw, but the old vampire did not react. He looked exactly as he had before. Harry pulled out a silver stake he'd bought at Knockturn Alley the day before when they'd been preparing for the raid. He wasn't skilled in using it, but he assumed it must be pretty simple with enough brute strength.

He continued to watch them grapple, wondering if he should step in and help. Would it distract Ginny if he tried to help? Harry worried.

Rabinovich seemed to be getting an edge on Ginny now, as she was much newer and less strong than the old vampire was. Harry watched in horror as Rabinovich pushed Ginny to the ground, straddling her with his legs as he leaned toward her throat—

Harry had to move. He ran towards Rabinovich, silver stake raised in his hand. Rabinovich turned his head toward Harry, snarling at him, fangs and teeth all bared.

Harry pushed the old vampire off Ginny, who had been looking more and more like she'd been about to be dinner—or pulverized.

Harry lunged at Rabinovich as the vampire attempted to regain his footing. As he knocked back into him, Harry realized just how strong Rabinovich was. He had always heard stories, but he had never been able to experience the true strength of an older vampire.

"You can't have her," Harry snarled at Rabinovich as they wrestled. Harry's grip was loosening on the stake, and he couldn't allow that to happen. He struggled to reposition his grip on the stake as he continued to fight with Rabinovich, who was attempting to gain the upper hand and flip them so that he was on top of Harry, chest protected.

"I already do," Rabinovich laughed, finally managing to flip them.

With a grunt, Harry ground his leg into the ground, hooking his arm over Rabinovich's shoulder and his other leg around one of Rabinovich's. He bucked his hips up as he drove his leg into the ground, pushing with all his might. He threw his momentum to his right side, flipping Rabinovich back to his vulnerable position.

"No, you don't," Harry said, panting, as he drove the stake into Rabinvovich's chest. He hit the vampire's ribs, cursing. Knowing he needed to get it right, or else all could be lost, Harry tried again, driving the stake in from beneath the ribs, towards the vampire's heart.

He felt Rabinovich's msucles relax underneath him. Harry removed his stake from the heart, cleaning the blood on it off on his shirt.

"Bloody hell," Harry said. He got up off of Rabinovich, turning towards Ginny.

Ginny's face was ashen as she stared at Harry, eyes wide in fright. "Harry!" She warned. He felt something hit him, then, and he fell forward, face hitting the cold, hard stone floor.

"Fuck," Harry cursed, seeing stars.

He heard a scuffling and blearily looked over to see Ginny fighting with Rabinovich once again. Rabinovich looked weaker than he had before Harry had stabbed him through the heart, and Harry watched as Ginny was able to hold her own this time.

She bent forward and opened her mouth, light catching on her fangs as she bit into Rabinovich's neck. Harry winced at the sight, watching as Ginny tore into the vampire's neck, blood pouring from the wound. "Merlin, Ginny," Harry couldn't help but say.

Ginny turned to look at Harry, a look on her face that he'd never seen on anyone's face, save perhaps Fenrir Greyback's. It was a look of pure bloodlust, blank and hungry.

As she turned back towards Rabinovich's neck, Ginny placed her lips on him and drank deeply for a moment. She seemed to gain some sort of fortification from the older vampire's blood. Harry felt a vague sense of discomfort as he watched how much Ginny enjoyed herself as she drained Rabinovich. _This is who she has to be, now,_ Harry reminded himself.

When Ginny finished her meal, she pulled Rabinovich's limp body upwards and grabbed him, one hand on his neck and the other on his head, giving a small twist.

"It's done," Ginny said, dropping Rabinovich's body onto the floor and jumping up. She wiped the blood running down from her chin on the sleeve of her blouse and smiled at Harry brightly, the creature within her that he'd seen only moments before gone entirely.

"Good," Harry said. "Let's go check on the others."

Ginny nodded and took Harry's hand into hers as she led him somewhere within the manor. Halfway through their trek, Ginny pulled him into an alcove and placed a searing kiss on his lips. Her body was tense and passionate as she pulled him to her, hands already wandering Harry's body. Harry moaned, unable to help the feeling of desire building within him at Ginny's touch.

"Fuck, Harry," Ginny groaned. "I want you so much."

"I want you too," he whispered hoarsely. "But I'm not sure we have the time…" Merlin, how he wished they had the time.

Ginny pouted against his lips and caressed his member through his trousers. Harry groaned again.

"Now, that's not playing fair," he chastised her, thinking of how he could just take her quickly…

"All's fair in love and war," Ginny grinned at him, still toying with his cock through his trousers, twirling her hair in her other hand.

Harry couldn't resist—he kissed her again heatedly, all other thought leaving his head as their lips met. He brought a hand to her bum for a moment, giving it a hard squeeze before he brought it around and caressed her clit through her own trousers.

"How's that feel?" he asked huskily.

Ginny gave a moan and Harry smiled darkly, enjoying the lust in her eyes as she looked up at him. He continued to rub her through her trousers as they kissed. Ginny began to fumble with the button on his trousers, undoing it after a few seconds and pulling his pants down with the trousers, freeing Harry's cock.

She latched her mouth onto him as soon as he was free, licking up the precum that had begun to leak from his tip. "Mm, I like how you taste," Ginny told him, eyes dark and smile wicked. Ginny took him completely into her mouth then, and when Harry felt his tip hit the back of her throat, he had to stop himself from cumming instantly.

He held back, somehow, Harry didn't know how, and pulled Ginny upwards, picking her up by her arse and placing her on the ledge against the window in the alcove. He kissed her neck, nipping at it before he made his way downwards, placing a soft kiss on her breast through her shirt and bra before gave yet another nip. Ginny moaned and wriggled her hips against the ledge beneath her. Harry traveled lower still, placing a kiss on her mound, and then her clit, through her trousers.

"Harry," Ginny whined.

"What's that?" Harry asked her, enjoying teasing her and seeing how much she needed him.

"Please," Ginny pleaded. "Please fuck me."

Harry didn't need another invitation. He unbuttoned her trousers and pulled them downwards—with her help as she pushed herself up to allow them past her bum—and off her legs, onto the stone floor somewhere behind them in the corridor. He pushed her knickers aside, soaking wet, to Harry's delight, and guided his cock into her opening.

He groaned as he entered her, feeling Ginny's velvety warmth all around him. He moved within her, thrusting in and out, a thumb rubbing her clit as he kissed her neck.

"Fuck, yes," Ginny murmured. She thrust back at him, his cock reaching new depths inside her.

Harry moaned. Ginny's hand found his arse and squeezed, nails digging into the skin on his backside. "Ginny," he groaned. "Feels—so—good," he said between thrusts.

Ginny nodded, pulling his face back towards her for another kiss. Merlin, she was so wet, Harry thought. She felt so good wrapped tightly around him, milking him for all he had—he was so close. He brought his thumb back to her clit, feeling her flutter around him as her legs began to squeeze and quiver around his waist.

Ginny's back arched, head hitting against the window behind her with a _thunk_.

Harry could no longer control himself. With a grunt, he came inside her, filling her.

"Merlin," Ginny said as she came down from her orgasm. "That was…"

"Bloody amazing," Harry finished for her, panting.

She nodded and kissed him. "Where did our trousers go?"

Harry chuckled, summoning their clothing. He performed freshening charms on each of them, remembering that Ginny could no longer do magic.

They put their clothes on quickly. As Harry was pulling his shirt over his head, he told Ginny, "We've really got to check on the others."

"I agree," she told him. "We shouldn't have taken that detour, but seeing you fight, and my own fight against Doru just made me so randy."

"You make me randy," Harry replied.

Ginny grinned. "Let's go, before we turn into hormonal teens all over again."

Harry nodded and they continued on where Ginny had been leading him before. They traveled down a set of stairs and in a large room, Harry saw that Ron, Hermione, and Neville were standing over a body.

"Glad to see you lot," Ginny told them.

Harry went over to Neville and gave his partner a gentle swat on the shoulder. "Everything alright, Longbottom?"

"Yeah," Neville answered. "But this whole thing will be a bloody mess to explain to Robards."

"Oh, fuck, you're right," Harry realized, imagining the look on the Head Auror's face as he explained the casualties and why they had gone in with three civilians and no Auror backup.

"Where's Rabinovich?" Hermione asked them.

"Dead," Ginny replied matter-of-factly. "Finished him off. He never would have allowed himself to go to Azkaban."

"Vampires who break the law don't go to Azkaban, Ginny," Hermione told her. "They get executed."

"What?" she asked.

"Yes, they're considered a drain on Ministry resources in the prison system," Hermione explained, a look of disgust on her face.

"Well, they do live basically forever," Ron said. "So, it's a lot of wasted tax money."

"Do we at least get a trial?" Ginny asked. She was sure that if her heart was working, it would be pounding inside her chest at this news.

"Yes," Hermione said. "But only because of recent legislation."

"Fucking hell," Ginny said. "I guess I'd better brush up on my new rights as a magical being, rather than a witch."

Hermione nodded. "The Ministry can be positively archaic."

"That helps," Ginny muttered lowly to herself. Harry was sure he was the only one who heard her, looking down at her in concern and placing a kiss on her crown.

"What happened with that other witch?" asked Ron.

"Morana?" Harry asked. "I knocked her out and sent her to the holding cells in the Ministry. Somebody will have gotten notification that a new prisoner had arrived and will be doing the processing, I imagine."

"What do we do now?" Ginny asked.

Harry looked down at her. "Clean up, head into the Ministry, and file an incident report. Then, we'll rest and start trying to find a way to turn you back into a human."

Ginny looked at him, amber eyes wide. "I can't imagine it's possible."

"It doesn't hurt to try," Harry shrugged. "After all, I've survived quite a lot of things that I shouldn't have."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go now! Please feel free to tell me your predictions! Will Ginny be able to turn back into a human? If so, how can it be done?


	16. Chapter 15: ab-human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: So this is it--the last chapter. I hope you've all enjoyed the ride! This will be end of the journey for this version of Harry and Ginny. Please let me know what you thought! Thanks for reading all the way through!

_**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: AB-HUMAN** _

The hours they spent at the Ministry of Magic following their raid on Doru's manor were long and tedious for Ginny. She'd been subjected to a lengthy questioning of her intentions for visiting the Ministry before she'd been allowed in to follow Harry and the others up to the Auror Department.

It made her feel as if she were suddenly lesser—a shame and regret deeper than she had ever felt enveloped her as she answered the wizard's questions. She'd always automatically been allowed into the Ministry with nary a glance when she'd been a witch. Now, due to circumstances beyond her control, she was being treated like she was dirty or untrustworthy.

She scoffed as she left the questioning room off the side of the Atrium and took the lift alone to the Auror Department. When she arrived, she saw that Harry and the others were sitting in a questioning room, as well, the blinds on the observation window wide open. Head Auror Robards was on one side of the table, quill in hand, scribbling furiously on the large roll of parchment.

She could see Harry saying something, Robards nodding along to something before he said something back to Harry. Ginny watched, wondering if she should come in, or wait for an invitation. Were they talking about her, and her stupidity?

Ginny got angry with herself, thinking of how she'd vowed to herself when she'd been eleven that she would never allow herself to be manipulated or fooled again, and once again, she had allowed herself to be tricked and fooled into something she never should have been involved in. Perhaps becoming a vampire was the punishment for her foolishness—a curse of damnation for her broken vow.

She stood there, biting her lip anxiously, shifting her weight restlessly as she argued with herself. She saw Hermione glance up and smile at her timidly.

Hermione said something to Ron. Her brother stood up from his chair and walked over to the door, opening it. He poked his head out, and said, "You're part of this too, Ginny. We've got a chair ready for you."

"Alright," Ginny agreed, willing her feet forward. More timidly than she'd ever done anything in her life, Ginny stepped into the interrogation room, taking the empty seat she could now see next to Harry's left side. Harry looked up at her and smiled reassuringly, placing a hand on her thigh after she sat down beside him.

She smiled at him thankfully, feeling somewhat bolstered.

Robards said something and silence followed immediately. Everyone was staring at her.

Had his comment been directed at her?

"Sorry," Ginny said. "What was that?"

"I said," Robards repeated. "Glad you could join us. We've been talking a bit here, but we wanted to start with you. You've been a missing person for around a week now."

"Erm, yeah. Is that where I should start?" Ginny asked.

Robards nodded. "Unless it starts at a different point."

Ginny shrugged, thinking of how her story would implicate her in crimes she'd committed on Doru's behalf. She looked at Harry, hoping for guidance, knowing that Robards would be analyzing her every movement and word during this explanation.

Harry nodded reassuringly, taking her hand into his and squeezing it.

She could do this. She had to do this, she resolved.

And so, Ginny started her story at its beginning: her Quidditch career.

When they finally left, hours later, Ginny felt relief.

"I'm surprised I wasn't arrested," she told Harry for what had to be the fourth time as they sat in his flat and ate Indian takeaway.

"Well, I think the Ministry had bigger fish to fry, especially as you were used. I think Robards also feels that being turned into a vampire is a big enough pain for you to feel contrite."

A pain? Ginny reflected on her earlier thoughts of doom and condemnation, deciding she wouldn't tell Harry that she felt she'd been damned for her stupidity.

She took a bite of her curry, tucking a piece of red hair behind her ear. Truthfully, she wasn't very hungry, and hadn't been since she'd drank from Doru. She wasn't sure that it was proper for her to have drank his blood, as he was also a vampire, but it had nourished in a way that the other blood had not.

It was strange, not being human, Ginny reflected as she chewed her bite. Everything seemed more intense, which was saying something, as she had always felt things intensely as a human. Her family had always called it the Weasley Temper, as each of them had seemed to suffer from some form of it—even Percy.

"Thank you, Harry," Ginny said after a long silence.

"For what?"

"For being there for me. And helping me with my problem."

"I wouldn't have done it any other way," Harry told her earnestly. "You matter to me, human or not."

Ginny was sure she would have blushed at his words if she could have. "You matter to me, too," she said.

She'd not known Harry very long—only about a month and a half now since he'd walked into the Leaky with Hermione and Neville—but he'd become extremely important to her in that short amount of time. He'd had her attention from that first moment, something within him having called to her. She remembered running into him at the Lucky Leprechaun, Seamus' pub, and what had followed…

That was when she'd known that her own desire for him was returned, leading to an explosive and amazing night of shagging. Ginny's insides twisted and tightened as she remembered how Harry had felt inside her that first time. She bit her lip as she looked at him now.

"What?" Harry asked after swallowing his bite of lamb.

"Oh, nothing," Ginny told him.

Harry only raised an eyebrow at her, clearly not believing the lie.

"I was just thinking about you…"

"Oh?"

"And how you feel inside of me," Ginny elaborated.

Harry grinned. "Oh yeah? How's that?"

"Bloody amazing," Ginny answered. "In fact, I'm imagining it now…"

Harry's eyes darkened and he dropped his fork onto the takeaway container. Then, Harry's hand was on her thigh, creeping upward. Ginny's insides clenched again, and she licked her lips, anticipating when his hand found what it was looking for.

He palmed her through her trousers and Ginny felt a hot jolt of lust run through her.

Ginny pushed her takeaway to the side, losing any interest she may have had. She lifted herself up and began to straddle Harry's hips, bringing his face to hers, pulling him by his hair. He groaned lightly at the tugging and she kissed him deeply, tongue asking his permission to enter his mouth.

Harry allowed it, his own tongue meeting hers, teasing it. She ground herself down on his already-hard cock, relishing the way he felt against her. She needed that friction…

Harry's hands were already tugging her blouse up, fumbling with the hook of her bra before he gave up and pulled that over her head, too. She grinned against his lips, chuckling lightly. "Having a hard time?" she asked, grinding against him again.

He groaned and Ginny wasn't sure if it was the pun or the feeling of her body on his. He palmed her breasts, tweaking her nipple for a moment before he placed his mouth on it and sucked on it. Ginny gasped, back arching in pleasure, core beginning to ache with want.

Ginny unbuttoned Harry's trousers. "Your pants are in the way," she told him as she kissed his neck. She could almost hear his heart pounding away, sense the blood flowing in his veins, rushing through the artery ever-so close to her mouth…

Harry wiggled his hips and Ginny pulled his trousers and pants down, taking his cock into her hand. She rubbed it up and down, imagining how it would feel once it was finally inside her again.

"Can I sit on you?" Ginny asked.

Harry nodded eagerly, and she lifted her hips up, guiding him into her entrance. They both moaned at the sensation. Ginny let the feeling fill her for a moment before she began to move back and forth, grinding her clit against his pelvis. Harry's hands were on her hips, squeezing with each of her movements on top of him.

She decided to switch it up, beginning to bounce up and down on his member, reveling in the slapping of their flesh together.

Now Harry's hands were on her bum, squeezing for a moment before one of his hands slapped her arsecheek.

"Yes, Harry," Ginny moaned out at the sting of pleasure.

They continued on like this, until they both climaxed. Ginny fell into Harry's arms, snuggling in as he wrapped them around her torso.

"I could fall asleep like this," Ginny told him softly.

"Me too," Harry said. His eyes were drooping.

"We should shower," Ginny told him gently. "Then we can sleep. It's been a long fucking day."

Harry nodded, but burrowed deeper against her breasts. She chuckled. "I'm getting up," she told him. "Whether you follow or not."

Harry whined something unintelligible.

Ginny chuckled and disentangled herself from him, walking carefully to the loo. She fiddled with the tap, turning it as hot as she could.

As she stepped into the shower, Ginny heard Harry heaving himself up in the next room. He was stepping into the shower beside her within a minute or so, still looking a little sleepy. She supposed that Harry had had a very busy day—she didn't seem to need as much sleep as she had before, and it made her forget that she'd spent half her life sleeping.

He began to wash her back tenderly and she returned the favour, pulling his body flush against hers and washing his back while wrapped in Harry's embrace.

"We can go sleep after this," Ginny told Harry.

He nodded tiredly, eyes drooping a bit as his hair fell into his face, wet.

She helped him dry off and they made their way back to Harry's bed. He rolled over immediately, cuddling into her side. She could hear him beginning to snore within minutes, and Ginny laid on her side, staring at the wall, thinking of the day she had just lived.

She had killed someone—again. She had hoped she would never have to do such a thing again. Even scarier, she had enjoyed killing Doru. Something about drinking from him and breaking his neck had excited her. She didn't think the feeling had anything to do with being a vampire, either.

Ginny realized she was scared of who she had become and had been for quite a while. Ever since she had killed the Carrows during the war, something within her had been fearful of what she could be capable of. She'd known she was brave but had never realized the steel that could harden within her veins if it came down to it.

She had killed people.

Ginny Weasley had become a killer.

She laid there for quite a while, these thoughts circling and reverberating within her brain for hours until finally she drifted off into sleep in Harry's arms.

When she awoke, Ginny wasn't sure what time it was. A pair of green eyes were staring at her, though, and Harry smiled as soon as he saw her awaken.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," he said.

Ginny smiled, embarrassed and flattered all at once.

"Good morning, handsome," she responded in kind. He smiled somewhat sappily, and if Ginny wasn't so smitten with him, she might have characterized the look as stupidly lovestruck. As it was, she enjoyed the way Harry was looking at her.

"What's the plan for today?" Ginny asked, rubbing her eyes.

"I thought we'd go down to the Department of Mysteries and see if they had any research or anything we may be able to try as an experiment."

"And use me as a guinea pig?" Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Harry blushed and shrugged. "Well, we've got to at least try, right?"

Ginny wanted to try—she hadn't enjoyed being undead, though shagging seemed more intense than it ever had before. Ginny also didn't relish the idea of anything experimental being done on her.

Harry was staring at her, looking like he was analyzing her with his Auror eyes.

"What?" she asked.

"It's just… there isn't a lot that can kill the undead, you know? And think of how amazing it would be for you to be the first vampire—to our knowledge, anyway—to be changed back into a human. How many people we could help that never wanted to be basically immortal."

Ginny thought about it, finding she did agree with Harry.

"Alright, well let's get ready, then."

They bustled about, Harry dressing in a fresh set of Auror robes and Ginny donning her same set of clothing from the day before. Even though Harry performed freshening charms on both her blouse and trousers, and even though she skipped the knickers altogether, she still felt grimy in the clothing.

Harry side-along Apparated her to her flat, where she changed into one of her nicer sets of robes and then they made their way to the Ministry of Magic.

"Are we sure I'll be allowed in again?" Ginny asked nervously, annoyed with her anxiety. Once, she had been so sure of herself…

"You're with me, on official Ministry business again," Harry told her, grinning. "Who can say no to Harry Potter?"

"Not me," Ginny muttered. "Not with that bum."

Harry's cheeks darkened as he ushered her to the Atrium, skipping the line.

"Sir, you can't bring a vampire into the Ministry of Magic," the witch checking in the employees told Harry.

Harry gave the security witch a look Ginny had never seen him wear before—not in polite company, anyway.

"Who am I?" Harry asked the witch.

"Er?" She looked like she was wondering if it was a trick question. "Sir?"

"You know who I am, yes?" Harry asked.

"Yes, sir."

"I can bring whoever I need into the Ministry, understand?"

Ginny wasn't sure that it worked that way, but she loved the way that Harry was taking initiative. If she wasn't already on edge, worried about the afternoon to come, she may have been turned on by his show of aggression.

"Yes, sir," the witch said. "You two can proceed."

She didn't even check Harry's wand, which was the standard procedure. She allowed them in without another glance—perhaps just to avoid a scene with _the_ Harry Potter.

Harry ushered her to the lifts, where instead of pressing the usual button for the Auror Department level, he pressed the button for the absolute lowest level: the Department of Mysteries.

Ginny had never been in the Department of Mysteries, but she had heard many rumours. She had heard that there were quite a few items that curse-breakers would find on their expeditions that would end up there for further study. She'd once thought of joining the Department of Mysteries upon graduation from Hogwarts, but had quickly tossed the idea out, as the life of an Unspeakable didn't seem very appealing.

Now, as they walked down the darkened corridor towards the mysterious department, Ginny felt twin thrills of fear and excitement run down her spine.

Harry opened the door to the Department of Mysteries like he belonged there or had been there many times.

"Not your first time?" she asked.

Harry shook his head. "You could say that, I, ah, have been here a time or two."

He didn't elaborate and Ginny understood that now wasn't the time, but she filed the thought away to ask him about later.

They were standing in a room that looked much like the rest of the Ministry of Magic, but circular, with many doors surrounding them.

"Do you know where we're going?" Ginny asked him nervously.

"We're to wait here until one of the Unspeakables comes to fetch us," Harry told her.

Ginny nodded silently, still peering about, taking in every detail around her. She wondered if there had ever been a vampire allowed in the Department of Mysteries before, hoping that she wasn't the first one. If she wasn't, she might have had more of a chance for the Unspeakables to know how to change her back into a witch. She hoped.

Finally, after what felt like several minutes—though Ginny couldn't be sure, as her sense of time had been off since she'd become a vampire—an Unspeakable entered the circular room.

"Harry Potter and Vampire Ginevra Weasley?" they asked.

The Unspeakable wore deep, purple-coloured robes with a question mark emblazoned on the breast— _how creative,_ Ginny thought—and was wearing her hair in a short pixie cut. Ginny didn't recognize her at all but wasn't surprised about it.

She didn't particularly appreciate being addressed as _"Vampire_ Ginevra Weasley," but she supposed that the distinction might be important for the Unspeakables, especially as they could possibly be changing her life for the better.

"That's us," Harry said. "Unspeakable Crowley?"

"Yes. Follow me," Unspeakable Crowley said, gesturing for them to follow her in the direction of one of the doors. "We will be going to one of our research libraries through the Space Room." She said this as if it explained everything, so Ginny just shrugged at Harry and followed their lead.

Unspeakable Crowley led them into a room that caused Ginny to feel much lighter.

"Hang onto the rope, now," the Unspeakable instructed, grabbing onto the rope anchored on each side of the room with both hands.

Ginny and Harry both grabbed on, and as she got further into the large, dark room, her feet began to lift off the ground and she saw the planets she'd studied in Astronomy at Hogwarts. They looked so close, Ginny thought she may be able to float away and touch them. Instead, she floated along behind Harry and Unspeakable Crowley, holding onto the rope until they finally had traversed the galaxy.

Ginny felt herself growing heavier once again, feet lowering back onto the floor gradually. Unspeakable Crowley opened the door and they stepped into a much more mundane looking room, filled with witches and wizards wearing similar robes to Unspeakable Crowley, studying at desks, piles and piles of books surrounding each of them.

"This is one of our three research libraries," Unspeakable Crowley told them. "This is where we keep our research on the vampire race, specifically, as each library deals with specific topics. Now, if you follow me, we will head to the Ab-Human section of the library."

Ab-Human? Ginny wondered silently as they followed the Unspeakable. What a strange word.

"Thank you, again, Unspeakable Crowley, for allowing us to visit you all and work this out," Harry said.

The Unspeakable peered back at them over her shoulder. "We have worked with you a few times now, Harry Potter, and we always get interesting results when you're involved."

Harry had worked with the Department of Mysteries a few times? Or at all? He'd never mentioned such a thing, but Ginny supposed that was why it was called the Department of Mysteries.

Harry shot a glance at her and mouthed, "I'll tell you later."

Ginny nodded at him and they continued on into a darker corner of the library. There were two other Unspeakables already there, numerous books open, their fingers following along the page. A quill was writing by itself next to both of them on a long roll of parchment that had begun to touch the ground.

"Unspeakable Clarke, Unspeakable Walpole, Harry Potter and Vampire Ginevra Weasley have arrived for their research session."

The Unspeakables looked up from their books, casting a spell Ginny had never seen that seemed to mark their place in the books.

"Erm, good to meet you," Ginny said, sticking her hand out for them.

Neither of them reached out to shake her hand, but rather stared at her as if fascinated.

"You'll have to excuse them," Unspeakable Crowley said. "They've been researching vampires and some other Ab-Human transformations for years. Haven't socialized much outside their families and here in the Department."

"Charming," Ginny commented, annoyance colouring her tone.

They continued to stare at her, and Ginny became uncomfortable once again.

"So, do you lot have any questions for us?" Harry asked.

"We do have a set of questions," one of the Unspeakables answered. Ginny wasn't sure if it was Clarke or Walpole.

"Well get to it," Ginny said impatiently.

The Unspeakables' gaze reminded her vaguely of Luna's, and Ginny tried to remind herself that they were doing her a favour by having her here.

"Take a seat," the Unspeakable on the right said. "I'm Unspeakable Walpole, and I'll be asking the questions. Clarke over there will record your answers and perform some of the investigative charms. Can't tell you how exciting it is to have an actual vampire here for once, rather than just working in theories."

Ginny took a seat at the table, watching as the quills fell down and Unspeakable Clarke grabbed one of them, as well as another roll of parchment.

"Okay, first," Walpole cleared her throat, pushing her brown hair out of her face. "When was it that you were changed into your current state?"

On the questions went for what seemed like hours, Ginny growing tired and hungry near the end.

Harry was shooting concerned looks at her. "Do you need something, Gin?" he asked.

Honestly, Ginny thought, blood sounded rather good.

It had only been two days since she'd fed from Doru, but she was thirsty again.

"No, I'm alright, thanks," Ginny lied.

Harry didn't look like he believed her—nevertheless, the nodded at her. The questioning continue on for several more minutes before the Unspeakables decided to break for lunch.

"If you lot would follow us," Unspeakable Walpole said. "We'll be in one of our labs after we eat, and that is through one of the different main rooms. They all grabbed onto the rope as they entered the space room again.

Ginny didn't look at the planets floating nearby this time, but at the floor that seemed to disappear from underneath them as they got closer to the center of the room. She had questions she wanted to ask, but she knew that the Unspeakables wouldn't answer anyway.

Once everyone's feet were back on the ground, Unspeakable Clarke opened the door and allowed them back into the antechamber with the many doors.

"We don't really eat in the Ministry canteen," Unspeakable Clarke told them. "We have our own break room, and you're welcome to anything in it while you are here."

How generous of them, Ginny thought acerbically.

After lunch, in which Ginny did not eat and Harry picked at his chicken salad sandwich, the Unspeakables led them through a room filled with brains in tanks of water.

Some of the brains seemed to have tentacles, which concerned Ginny a great deal. She shied away from them as they moved through the room. The Unspeakables opened a door and they found a corridor filled with yet more doors.

"Sweet Merlin," Ginny muttered. "How big is this place?"

Harry chuckled beside her. "Much larger on the inside than the outside."

Ginny didn't get the joke, so she shrugged and continued to follow the Unspeakables through another door. This, she thought, looked more like a potions classroom, which she guessed was why they called it a _lab._

"We'll be doing some experiments this afternoon," Unspeakable Clarke explained. "Nothing dangerous. A lot of poking, prodding, and exams."

Ginny shifted uncomfortably and Harry told the Unspeakables, "If anything gets too uncomfortable for her, we will stop immediately."

The Unspeakables looked blandly annoyed but nodded in agreement. "Okay, Miss, if you could sit on this stool, we'll get started."

At the end of the day, Ginny left with no more answers than she'd arrived with. "I hope that wasn't a waste of time," Harry said as they were escorted to the lift from the Department of Mysteries well after the average Ministry employee would have left.

Ginny shrugged. "I guess I've got endless time."

Harry chuckled darkly. "I suppose so, but I can tell how being undead tears at you."

He pushed the button that would take them to the Atrium and now that they were alone, Ginny asked, "Did you hear what they called me? Ab-Human?"

"Yeah, I'd never heard that term before," Harry said. "Look, Gin, if you didn't like what happened here today, we don't have to go back."

"We can give it a few more goes," Ginny said. "I want to make sure we've thoroughly tried before we give up on this possibility."

"We can do that, then," Harry smiled gently. "Now, I know that something what bothering you while we were there. What was it?"

"I'm really thirsty…"

H&G

For the next week, Harry and Ginny continued to return to the Department of Mysteries. The Unspeakables were silent about any new information they may have garnered from studying her, and at the end of it all, they had no way that they could think of to change Ginny back. Ginny wondered if they'd even spared it any thought at all.

As they left the Ministry on the last day of the week, Ginny said, "I think I've had enough of that."

"I understand," Harry told her honestly. "We can brainstorm some more ways to work this out."

And so, they did.

Next, they travelled to Transylvania where there were colonies of vampires, as well as leading researchers regarding vampire traits and genetics.

They spent around a month there with the researchers before leaving.

Ginny felt emotionally and physically drained after all the experiments and spells done on her. She knew Harry would need to get back from his extended leave-of-absence soon. The Auror Department couldn't keep his job on hold forever.

"We should just give up," she told him as they arrived back in the United Kingdom. "I don't think we'll ever be able to do this. I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up…"

Harry looked at her for a moment. "I might have an idea."

Her stomach twisted. "I don't want any more spells done, or blood drawn, or anything like that," she told him testily.

"Nothing like that… not for you. I have no idea whether this will work," Harry told her. "But before I tell you this idea, I need to tell you a story."

He told her the story of the Three Brothers from Beedle the Bard, and then he told her of his adventures in re-uniting the Deathly Hallows while he'd been working towards Voldemort's downfall. "So, when he and I met at Hogwarts that final time," Harry said. "I was the Master of Death."

"Master of Death?" Ginny asked.

Harry shrugged. "Not much is known about the title, as no one had ever united the Hallows before. But as I've still got the Hallows, and am technically still the Master of Death, I have an idea…"

They waited a week to try Harry's idea, as both of them were rather exhausted from their travels.

After they finished a nice dinner, they cuddled together on Harry's sofa and listened to the wireless. Celestina Warbeck was playing, reminding Ginny of the many nights her parents had spent dancing to these very songs.

As they cuddled on Harry's sofa, Harry's hands began to wander Ginny's body. Ginny was tense and hopeful, so she tried to relax into his touch. He brought her lips to his tenderly, kiss helping her muscles lose their tension. Her fingers twined themselves into Harry's hair, tugging him closer insistently. Harry sealed his body against hers, and one of his hands made its way down to her bum.

As he squeezed, she moaned into his mouth, proceeding to kiss along his stubble-covered jaw. Now, Harry loaned, mouth agape. Ginny felt her center filling with heat as she looked at his face, so lost in desire. She rubbed her hips against Harry's, feeling his hardness against her.

She sucked on his neck lightly, careful not to break any of his skin as she felt his pulse against her lips. She could hear his blood flowing through his veins. Ginny ground her hips against his again, eliciting a groan from Harry.

"Bedroom?" She asked him huskily.

Harry nodded, making no move to get up as he continued to fondle her bum.

"Let's go," she giggled, pulling him up by her own strength. They kissed all the way to the bedroom, Harry picking her up and wrapping Ginny's legs around his waist.

He threw her down on the bed, pouncing on her within moments. Ginny wrapped her legs around his waist once again and arched her back. She grabbed one of Harry's hands and placed it on her breast, wiggling against him as he tweaked a nipple.

"Please, Harry," she said, not afraid to beg him.

"As you wish," Harry smirked, unbuckling his belt and trousers, pulling them down. Ginny grabbed the waistband of his pants, pulling them down his thighs roughly.

Harry was working on her trousers now and she lifted her hips to help him get them off.

"Leave the knickers on," he told her huskily.

Ginny licked her lips, watching Harry's eyes darken by the moment as rubbed his hand against her center. She bucked against him, needing to feel him inside of her.

He smirked, knowing exactly what she wanted. She whined, bucking at him once again.

"You want me inside of you?" Harry asked

"Yes, please."

His fingers slipped past her knickers and into her wet folds. Her eyes nearly rolled back onto her head as he felt his fingers moving inside her, making sure she was ready for him. As his fingers began to piston in and out, Ginny gathered some of her own juices and grabbed his cock, rubbing him up and down, spreading his pre-cum over the head.

Harry hit a particularly spectacular spot inside her with his fingers and for a moment, she forgot what she'd been doing with her own hands, legs quivering, body quaking.

"I want to taste you," she told him when she came down from her high.

He grinned, eyes dark and glasses askew. She pulled them off his face, kissing him gently before he moved away from on top of her. Ginny kissed her way down his torso, suckling gently on certain parts, watching as he giggled from time to time.

She loved how ticklish he was.

She continued on, kissing each thigh before she laid a kiss on his tip.

She heard Harry moan as she engulfed him in her mouth, sucking as she moved upwards and then licking her way to the base of his cock. Ginny placed him in her mouth again, feeling him twitch inside her mouth for a moment. She continued on, keeping him right on the edge for several minutes before his hips bucked wildly against her, cock twitching inside her mouth.

When he was finished, she crawled up his body and kissed Harry deeply. He twisted a hand into her fiery hair, tugging on it as he climbed on top of Ginny.

"I'm returning the favour," he told her, voice hoarse.

She nodded wordlessly, biting her lip as she watched Harry make his way down to her core.

Merlin, she was so wet for him.

He experimentally placed a finger inside of her again for a moment before he placed his mouth on her clit, licking it gently for a moment. Harry licked and sucked every inch of her folds, and then his tongue was inside of her.

Ginny gasped in pleasure. She fisted a hand in his hair, tugging him further into her core.

As he continued on, she felt a coil tightening within her middle, until finally, it snapped and she fell over the edge.

She mumbled something—she wasn't sure what—and saw Harry smirking at her rather sexily as he watched her come down from her second orgasm of the night.

"Come here," Ginny ordered him.

He obeyed her, climbing up her body and kissing her neck.

"That was bloody amazing," she told him as she began to stroke his cock again, smiling as he hardened under her ministrations. "Can I have your cock inside me now, please?"

Harry grinned and nodded, guiding his member into her entrance. As he entered her, Ginny gasped in pleasure, the feeling of being filled and completed driving home how much Harry meant to her. They began to move together, bodies moving to a rhythm that they'd both become familiar with.

As Harry leaned forward, Ginny nuzzled into his neck and asked, "Ready?"

He nodded, and she licked his neck for a moment before she bit into his skin.

Harry let out a gasp and Ginny gently began to drink from him, more turned on than she'd ever been before.

Who would have known, she thought, that drinking from Harry would turn her on?

She should have been disgusted with herself, but she only felt pleasure and love as came undone around him once again. Feeling her tighten and pulse around her, Harry came inside her with a groan.

She licked the two little punctures on his skin, willing them to heal, somehow. She watched as his skin somehow knitted back together.

"Merlin," she panted out as Harry fell down beside her on the bed. She was so warm—warmer than she'd been since Doru had changed her.

Harry was looking at her in contentment, then worry as he watched her.

"You're rather red, Gin," he told her.

"Am I?" she felt her own forehead, finding it quite warm.

Something was clenching within her, tightening sickeningly, burning from her chest and then through her whole body. With a painful thump, she felt her chest begin to flutter.

"What the fuck?" she asked, eyes meeting Harry's concerned ones.

"Is it working?" he finally asked.

"I—think—so," Ginny gritted out, unsure, but in pain.

"Do you need anything?" Harry asked her.

Ginny shook her head, unsure that there was anything she could do to ease the burning sensation.

"Do you want me to spell you to sleep while this happens?" he asked, grabbing his wand from the bedside table.

Ginny thought about it. "No," she decided. "What if it interrupts the process?"

"You were knocked out when he turned you," Harry pointed out.

Ginny shrugged, then winced in pain. "I don't—want to—risk it."

Harry nodded at her and just held her, naked bodies moulding together.

It felt like a lifetime before the fiery pain running through her veins finally subsided. She was lying against Harry, eyes clenched shut as he held her in his arms.

Finally, her body began to cool again, and Ginny was no longer in pain.

She felt all her muscles relax into Harry's touch and Harry's grip around her tightened comfortingly.

"Alright?" he asked her sleepily.

"Yeah, I think it may be done," Ginny answered hesitantly.

He turned her around to look at her face.

"Your eyes look like they did before you were taken," he told her. "So beautiful and warm."

She smiled tiredly. "Shall we sleep now? I feel I could sleep a lifetime after the last few months."

Harry nodded. "You've got no arguments from me."

And so, they slept, arms and legs intertwined, naked skin on naked skin, Harry's face buried in Ginny's fiery mane.

As she drifted to sleep, Ginny wondered what would come next for them. After everything they'd faced and overcome in their short time together, she knew they could take on anything the world threw their way.


End file.
